


Song for the Yellowed Woods

by Grandoverlord



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Hunter Exam, Post-Chimera Ant Arc, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandoverlord/pseuds/Grandoverlord
Summary: The final theory was the one Killua felt least likely to be true, and the one that he wished for most ardently; somehow, some way, he’d been sent back in time. Every fibre of him knew that it was impossible. Every fibre of him sang with wanting. It'd be too neat, too easy-- and if Killua had learned anything, it was that the universe was diametrically opposed to making things easy.Unable to conclude what the ever-loving shit was going on, Killua was forced to move on to his next problem: what was he going to do about it?





	1. Lullaby

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_ | __  
---|---  
_And sorry I could not travel both_ | __  
_And be one traveler, long I stood_ | __  
_And looked down one as far as I could_ | __  
_To where it bent in the undergrowth._  
  
The shadow of Gon’s body lingered, unmoving, beyond the curtain. Killua hadn’t gotten any closer than this since he’d found Alluka, always standing right outside the partition that divided the world of the living from-- well, something else. Gon wasn’t quite dead. He wasn’t quite alive, either.

Killua’s tears fell hot, heavy drops laying trails of fire across his cheeks. His skin buzzed with a static that lingered just below the surface, just close enough that he could feel its need to escape, to tear itself out like broken stitches. Would it feel better if he let it? But unbridled rage was more than the world could take, so he pushed it down further and hoped that his touch would not shock.  

Nen was connected to emotion. Killua feared that if this failed, he would charge so much that all he could do was run to the desert and hope that no one noticed lightning striking the same place. It would take all the pain the skies could give him to balance the sparking circuits inside his chest.

He knew that these thoughts helped nothing. They were all he could think.

Swallowing, Killua grasped Alluka’s hand tighter.

“Big brother?” Alluka asked groggily, sitting up from the bench. He’d probably woken her up from the pressure on her hand. He couldn’t forget-- she was still a child. He had to hold her delicately, or she would break, and then what would he have? His strength was worth _nothing_ anymore. He had his wings, but the sky was too huge, too ponderous for him to have all to himself.

Killua forced down the tears and wiped his face, so quickly that Alluka couldn’t have seen it. “Good morning,” he said, and put on his best imitation of a smile.

“Where are we?”

“The hospital.” Killua glanced around at the makeshift area they’d set aside for Gon. It had all the fittings of a hospital, from constantly beeping machines to the smell of antiseptic. All it was missing was the sense of death. “My friend is here, sleeping. He’s--” Killua forced the words to come out smoothly. “He’s very sick.”

Raising her head, Alluka acknowledged his words with a sleepy eyed blink. _The lights are too bright_ , he thought. _Alluka’s eyes must hurt_.

If he spent all his energy taking care of Alluka, perhaps he could forget what was in front of him, that smudge behind the curtain where his best friend used to be. Alluka’s eyes traveled towards it and Killua let his shoulders climb a little higher. There was no use in that. Killua had learned better than anyone the definition of futility.

“I want to help get him on his feet again.” Killua continued.

“You want Something to take over,” she replied, and it wasn’t a question. “Just when I was able to spend time with you!”

“Don’t worry,” Killua assured her. He cocked his head to the side, letting that soft, brotherly smile drift onto his face that he knew Alluka was weak to. “Like I told you, we’ll be together from now on.” Manipulative. Necessary.  “And that’s a promise.”

Then, after a long dragging second, in which there was nothing but fluorescent lights and the harsh whir of Gon’s breathing apparatus, Killua’s first fracture showed. Her reluctance could mean Gon’s death-- if he had to, he would beg. Quietly, arms braced on his knees, Killua’s self control splintered and pushed itself between his lips in a jagged whisper. “Please help me _.”_

The darkness that swallowed Alluka couldn’t see his lip tremble.

Alluka was gone, replaced by the specialist that they called Nanika, the Something that claimed gaping, vacuous power. Killua could barely look at her placid eyes and an empty smile-- but she was part of his sister, and she would save Gon.

“We should we go in,” Killua said to no one at all. Nanika rarely responded, let alone tin full sentences, so his words were just an illusion of intimacy. Killua tried to make himself step forwards. “I just need a moment.”  

It always took two or three tries for Killua to summon his courage and face Gon-- or whatever he could call what was left of him. Killua couldn’t see this husk and pretend it was the Gon he knew. The Gon he knew wouldn’t have done this.

_Pull yourself together, Killua._

_If only you had run together, Killua. If only you had taught him how to._

“We should-- we should go in.”

The plastic curtain scuffed the floor as he pulled it back. The two of them crossed the threshold.

The change was immediate. Hazy, the air waved in a swarm of malice, Gon’s destructive determination washed the oxygen out of the air until all that was left to breathe was hatred. Killua drew Nanika further behind him, like he could afford any protection from the toxins in this room.

Nanika’s expression lay unchanged.

“This is Gon,” Killua trailed, gesturing towards his friend as if Nanika needed an introduction.

“Hand,” Nanika murmured. “Hand?”

Steeling himself, Killua reached underneath the covers for Gon’s desiccated wrist. Years of training and he couldn’t stop the way his stomach dropped at the sight.

Nanika reached out to take Gon’s hand, the shriveled, blackened thing that it was. The scent of desperation, sharp and harsh-- could it really be there, or was Killua just imagining it? It undulated from Gon’s skin like heat off the pavement. He looked like he’d been burned alive, and in a way, he had. That vicious anger had burned in a way that made Kurapika’s revenge look like a candleflame.

Killua had to keep it together. His sister was here-- he had to. He had to keep it together because she was watching and she couldn’t know how _weak_ her brother was, how deep the cracks went under his porcelain exterior. But seeing Gon like this-- Killua took a step back, biting his lip so hard that he tasted harsh iron; no surprise, because blood was everywhere here. How could you bind a wound that stretched a whole body? How could you heal a hurt that went deeper, marring the soul and tearing the heart to scarlet savaged shreds?

He had to keep it together. He _had to. He had to he had to he--_

“Please, Nanika.” Killua’s voice shook. He shook. “I wish--” and the thought came unbidden, welling up from somewhere deep and vital. _That I could do it all over._ “For you to heal Gon.”

Nanika turned to him, sickly grin untempered by the darkness in the air. “ ‘Kay.”

But instead of turning to Gon, she waddled over and wrapped her arms around Killua. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not when her hands became warmer, but as they heated he realized that he most definitely was not.

“Nanika, what are you doing?” He asked, his voice rising in pitch as her hands became even hotter, like brands on his back. He tried to gently detach her from him. “Nanika, I need you to stop.” When the smell of burning flesh reached his nose he tried to push harder, then with all his strength. It was no use; Nanika’s grip was like iron, and she was unforgiving and harsh.

“Nanika!” Killua yelled, teeth grated against the pain. “Please save Gon!”

There was nothing in the world but heat and pain and grief, because under all of it, this meant that Nanika couldn’t do it, couldn’t grant his wish. Why else would she be doing this?

“Please, Nanika,” Killua murmured, seeing his vision blur before him. For all his training, there as only so much pain the body could take. “--Gon.”

Outside, the pigeons on the roof took off in a flurry of wings; whatever mangled scream had come from inside, they wanted no part of it.

 

\---

 

The first rays of sunlight fell in lazy lines, warm and pleasant on Killua’s face. Had he passed out--? Killua rolled away from the light, surprised at the give of the bed beneath him. It was way too soft to be from the hostel.

And he could smell--

_Oh no._

Illumi must’ve brought them back home. He’d recognize the smell of their mansion anywhere, disinfectant and heady incense. If he could smell it that strongly, it meant he was near the meditation rooms, which meant that he was probably back in his old room.

He jolted out of bed, flailing his way to the floor with an unusual lack of grace.

 _Definitely my room,_ he thought looking around for the first time. Strangely, he’d been sleeping in regular clothes. Even more strangely, they were not the ones that he’d been wearing before.

It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was getting up and finding Alluka. He didn’t want to think about what they’re going to do to her now that Killua’s half-stolen her-- and who’s he kidding about the half? If he hadn’t proved a serious threat to his family, he would’ve never gotten Alluka out of here in the first place. He would’ve never gotten her to Gon. The thought hit him like a boulder to the stomach and he started towards the door.

It was then that Killua realized that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Killua could be subtle when the occasion called for it, and he was certainly cautious-- cautious enough to maintain a low level of aura around his body at all times, so that if an unexpected attack came he’d be able to minimize damage.

That aura wasn’t there, and when Killua tried to put it back, he found that he couldn’t even _feel_ it, let alone control it.

What had Illumi done?

Killua flung open the door, storming down the hall to where his brother was sure to be. Part of him was always surprised to find that Illumi slept in a bed like a normal person rather than hanging upside-down like a bat, but he supposed even monsters liked feather pillows.

He didn’t bother to keep his footsteps quiet-- his family knew he was here. Now they would know he was awake, and he was _pissed._ Killua’s fist slammed into Illumi’s door in a rude imitation of a knock. Even without his aura, the wood splintered under his assault. His brother did not come to the door. Disregarding the warnings of both common sense and expereince, Killua kicked the lock and shoved the door open. When he got his nen back, he was going to do his very best to beat the shit out of his brother-- or, at the very least, prank him until he wished he was dead. He’d always been a nuisance like that.

A wolfish smile spread across his face as he strolled into Illumi’s room, only to drop when he realized that it was empty. Just to be safe, he checked the ceiling.

Quietly, Killua cursed and spun on his heel. He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking for the phone he normally kept on his person these days-- and of course, that was missing too.

Illumi must’ve known to clear out. His sense of self preservation had always been his strong suit.  

Killua cursed again and kicked the wall, hard enough that the reinforced cement fractured.

“Killua, language!” A voice, shrill and sharp, shot like a bullet to Killua’s ears. His mother gathered her skirts and sped down the hall. How that woman moved in that many layers was beyond him, but she knew how to hustle-- luckily, so did Killua.

He was only a split second from activating his Godspeed before he remembered; something was inhibiting his nen. He’d have to make a run for it the good old fashioned way. Or better yet, he could face her down. She should know where Alluka was.

_Worry about Alluka first, then Gon. Fix what you can before you worry about what you can’t._

“Mom, where the hell is Illumi? And where did Allu--” his words were choked by the blow of a iron-rodded fan smacking him upside the head.

“I said, _language,_ Killua,” Kikyo chided. “You’re too young to be talking like that.”

“Sure.” Killua rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t have a ton of time right now. How did I end up back here? What’s going on with Illumi? Where is Alluka?”

Kikyo’s visor flashed a confused pink. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you feeling alright?” She reached out a concerned hand to check his temperature, but he batted it away, in no mood for playing functional family right now.

“I’m fine. I’d be better if Illumi hadn’t screwed with my nen--”

He half expected his mother to chastise him again, but instead he watched the red line of her eyes draw into a slit. “What has gotten _into_ you? Where have you been hearing things about nen?” She fanned herself rapidly, perhaps trying to stop her apparatus from overheating. “You and I are going to talk to your father, and when Illumi gets back, I’m going to give him a _firm_ dressing down.”

She grabbed his arm before he had a chance to protest. Without his strength, he was in no place to resist her efforts. Besides, he’d been clumsy all day; he stood no chance of getting away from her without being in top form, like he had the day that he’d left for the hunter exam. That had taken meticulous planning and flawless execution-- all this time later, and he was still proud of it.

Fat lot of good it did him, dragged through his own home like a prisoner.

“I always knew that spending too much time outside would be bad for you,” Kikyo ranted. “You’re too young to be exposed to the world all on your own. We really should start sending someone with you on missions-- maybe Illumi.” She shook her head as soon as she’d said it. “No, he’s more well behaved than you, but I don’t want you picking up his habits.”

Overprotective in the strangest ways, his mother, and not nearly protective enough in others.

“Mom, where’s Alluka?” Killua ground out. Case in point.

“And why do you keep _asking_ that?” Kikyo replied, unfaltering in her pace. “The child is exactly where it needs to be. It’s not like anything’s _changed--”_ her steps froze as Killua dug his feet into the floor as hard as he could. “You’ll damage the rug, Killua. Let’s not be petulant.”

“Nothing’s changed?” Killua asked, eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean, nothing’s changed?”

“Why would it have? Now come, Killua. Your father won’t be around for long."

“Why are you lying to me?” Killua shot back.

His mother placed an affronted hand on her chest. “I am most certainly not lying to you. You’re my son.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“You’re so unkind to your mother,” Kikyo sighed. “I’ve raised ungrateful children. First Illumi going off on a job without telling the rest of us, now this--”

“How long will he be gone?” Killua didn’t have time for any of this. If Alluka had been returned to the vault below the manor, he’d have to start working on getting the codes immediately. He had no doubt that they’d changed all of them since he’d last gone down there. This wouldn’t be easy, especially with whatever strange zetsu-enforcing condition he was in now.

It felt like no zetsu that he’d ever encountered. Killua shook the thought off with a physical shake of his head. “How long?” He repeated.

Biting her lip, Kikyo fanned herself nervously. “I’m truly concerned about you, Killua. Your memory is absolutely _fragmented_. Illumi told you before he left, remember?” What was she talking about? “Two weeks, no more. If he’s gone any longer--” and now she assumed his voice, replicating the tone so well that an oily shiver traveled down Killua’s spine: “assume that I am dead, do not look for me no matter how tempting it may be.”

The words were familiar, and when Killua placed them, he couldn’t find any of his own.

Illumi _had_ said those words to Killua-- but that had been years ago, the day Illumi left to take the Hunter exam.

What the _fuck._  

His eyes flicked to the sides of the hallway-- and yes, there it was. He’d loved the dumbwaiters when he was a kid, the only member of the family who was both small enough and stupid enough to hide in the walls.

Tearing away, Killua flung open the dumbwaiter’s shutters and managed to wedge himself down the shaft before his mother could catch up to him. Bracing his hands and knees against the vertical chamber, he shimmied his way up until he was high enough that he was undetectable, cloaked in musty darkness.

He considered the fact, very briefly, that he should no longer have been able to fit up here, given how much he’s grown in the last year or two. Yet his arms had enough room to hold himself comfortably-- not even close to as tight as it should have been.  

He had no audience now, so he was free to freak out as much as he needed.

What the hell was going on? One second he’d been standing in the hospital room with Nanika and Gon, and the next he’d been here. Was this some strange by product of his wish? No-- this was no precedent for any of this; it wouldn’t make sense.

He’d wished for Gon to be healed. They’d walked in, and Nanika had taken Gon’s hand-- that much he remembered clearly. But when he tried to press further into memory, into the brief few moments where he’d made his wish, his head starting swimming and his arms trembled.

There was some sort of blockage there, obviously. Had there been fire? All he saw was a blur of color and pain, the feeling of constriction bearing down on his chest; whatever had been left on his mind, it felt foreign as ice against his skin.

Killua gazed down the shaft below and ran through his options.

Theory one was that Illumi had done something to take away his nen, and used his needles to manipulate his family into believing recent events hadn’t happened-- recent events, apparently, meaning the last two years.

Theory two: a hostile nen user had Killua trapped in his own memories, but through his actions he’d managed to twist them. It would be easy enough to create nen beasts that took on the personality traits of his family. If he had enough nen to fight, that would be an easy bubble to pop. _Unfortunately_ . He looked at his hands. _Not an option._

The final theory was the one Killua felt least likely to be true, and the one that he wished for most ardently; somehow, some way, he’d been sent back in time. Every fibre of him knew that it was impossible. Every fibre of him sang with wanting. It'd be too neat, too easy-- and if Killua had learned anything, it was that the universe was diametrically opposed to making things easy.

Unable to conclude what the ever-loving shit was going on, Killua was forced to move on to his next problem: what was he going to do about it?

The obvious answer was to play along with whatever fantasy had been drawn up until he could fill in the blanks about what had happened. If his timeline was correct, and he was almost sure it was, that meant taking the Hunter Exam.

He glanced at his clothes, now smudged with dirt but certainly distinguishable as the outfit he’d worn most during the exam. The date was obvious, then; he’d slept in these clothes because today was the day he made a run for it. Instead of getting dragged through half the house by his mother, he was supposed to have stabbed her.

So much for playing along.

Killua clambered down the dumbwaiter shaft until he reached an opening, ignoring the dissonance between his mind and his body. Fourteen year old him was taller and stronger than twelve year old him, and this diminished capacity would take some getting used to.

He was greeted by an empty hallway. Good.

Gon had learned zetsu during the Hunter Exam, and if Killua had learned anything, it was that competition brought out the best in him. It’d taken Gon, knowing nothing, several days. It had to take Killua less than one.

Moving with the silent grace of an assassin-- although a more imperfect one, now-- Killua sped to his room. At the foot of his bed lay his pack, the clothes shoved haphazardly inside and woefully crumpled already.

All that remained was to make his escape. This time he wouldn’t get caught.

7:54 AM; he’d give himself until noon.

\---

Killua’s watch-alarm chirped, insisting that his time was up. He saw no reason to fight down his grin as he showed his airship ticket to the flight attendant and she let out an equally bright chirp to confirm his first class reservation.

If everything was this easy, he’d be in and out of the Hunter Exam even faster than last time. But zetsu was different from regular nen. Any animal could learn it. The only thing you needed was a reason, and his family had given him plenty of those. He had zetsu, sure, but he feared that the rest of nen would prove to be more of a problem.

But that was a problem for _later_ him, Killua thought. He’d forgotten what it felt like to stretch out, luxuriate with only a minimal amount of tension. His eyes still swept the cabin from time to time and his left hand lingered, sharp as a razor, by his side, but he hadn’t been this relaxed in ages. Gone was the prickle of electricity under his skin, his constant companion these days. For once, he felt tired in a way that didn’t beg the skin off his bones.

It felt like indulgence. Gluttony.

Whatever illusion this was, he could let himself enjoy it, couldn’t he? But there had to be a _reason_ for all of this, and the thought sat heavy on him. What if this was just a distraction?

He’d been able to cross off the idea that it was Illumi’s doing at the airport. Illumi was good, but not good enough to influence that many people at once-- everyone had perfect confidence in the day and year. If this was nen’s doing, then this whole world was a construction, and that would take serious time, skill, and ability. For that kind of price, there had to be a reason _why_ , and he didn’t trust it to be benign.

If he was here, where was Alluka? Where was Gon?

Killua tensed. Was he wasting Gon’s last moments in an airship seat?

 _Even if I am, there’s nothing I can do about it._ And it was true; Killua hadn’t found a single crack in the illusion. He had to bide his time until he had more information.

Or until this airship crashed. That should be happening soon, too.

Right on time, the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot would like to inform you that we’re having some minor technical difficulties. It should be nothing to worry about, so we’ll keep you updated as the flight proceeds. Just a reminder to please keep your seatbelts buckled, as we’re about to experience some turbulence.”

Killua wedged his feet under the seat in front of him as the airship hit what was the first of many buffeting winds. The seat belt buckles were all broken-- he knew that much, and those storm clouds ahead were looking meaner than he remembered.

Sliding a little lower in his seat, Killua flipped open a magazine and paged through until he found a section that interested him. He kept his bag wedged firmly between his knees.

The airship shook like it was coming apart-- and it was. If Killua remembered correctly, they’d make an emergency landing fifty kilometers from the actual exam site. He would be the only one pointed in the right direction.  

It was going to be a bumpy ride.

Killua bided the storm like the professional that he was-- and by that he meant that he abused the privilege of first class buffet and ate as much free cake as he could physically shove down his throat. The person next to him wretched into a paper bag and Killua surreptitiously reached over to snag their dessert. It wasn’t like they were going to eat it.

Looking around, Killua cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. Did these people really think that they were going to pass the Hunter Exam? And if they did, could any of them be delusional enough to think that they would make good hunters? Getting a license was only the first step. There were plenty of weak hunters out there, too.

Weak was relative, though. Until you were the strongest, you would always be weak to someone.

The overhead luggage compartment shuddered with the airship. On the far end of the cabin, a portion collapsed on a pair of panicked women as as series of bumps rumbled through the hull. The airship sputtered and dipped erratically. _This is ridiculous._ _This guy can’t steer an airship._

Not that Killua could either, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

Killua’s body froze halfway out of his seat. He hadn’t done this the first time. How closely should he have been trying to stick to his original actions? What if he changed something irreparably? What if his actions here had repercussions? He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he could act however he liked and _not_ alter the path that this world would take, even if it wasn’t real.

Could that be part of the trap?

Killua eased back into his seat. A blaring alarm screeched from the intercom. “This is your pilot-- the captain’s taken a hit to the head-- _shit--”_ the signal cut off for a moment before coming back on, the pilot sounding winded. “We’d like to request that you stay calm as the airship makes an emergency landing--”

His voice was drowned out by the overwhelming chorus of complaints. Killua rolled his eyes.

“Emergency landing?” A man shouted, ruddy face practically bursting with angry flush. “We’ll be leagues from the exam site! How’re we supposed to get there on time?”

“I’m suing this company,” a woman muttered to her companion.

“I can’t walk that far!” Another.

_Hate to tell you about the first exam, my friend._

The noise level rose and rose, voices pitching louder to be heard over the harrowing whine of the engine. This was _why_ Killua didn’t spend time around normal people any more.

“We’re going to die!” Wailed a boy not much older than Killua. His friend leaned over and tried to comfort him, but Killua could see fear in his eyes, too. The image was too familiar, the panicked and the scared finding solace in each other, a calm in the eye of a typhoon. He could see Gon doing the same.

All the sound was suddenly too loud, the airships’s groans too grating, the voices too rough, and the sensations all too sharp. They were approaching the ground, but Killua couldn’t get out of here soon enough. He made a snap judgement. So what if it messed things up? Things were going to get fucked soon enough anyway.

Prying himself out of his seat, Killua paced down the aisle to the emergency exit.

“Sir, you really need to keep your seat,” A soft-eyed air attendant objected. “The flight’s almost over. If you’ll just sit for ten more minutes, sir.”

“Too long,” Killua growled, and it seemed that she sensed that if she didn’t get out of the way her heart was coming out of this airship with him. She scrambled back, pressing against the wall to get as far from him as possible. Smart.  

The locking mechanism was stuck. That could be dealt with easily enough. Killua hardened his hand and stabbed the metal of the door. It parted easily enough, made of the same cheap metal as the rest of this wreck. Ripping with all the strength that this body could offer him, Killua pried open a hole large enough for him to slip through.

“Sir…” started the flight attendant again weakly. He had to give it to her; she kept her feet well, especially with the hole sucking everything that wasn’t strapped down out into the storm. A flurry of papers tore by. He leaned back so that they wouldn’t hit him.

“What?”

She pointed a trembling finger. “Your bag is open, sir.”

Killua glanced over his shoulder, somehow calmed by the ripping air currents. “Oh. Thanks.” He tugged the zipper closed and held the straps with both hands. “See ya.” He waved.

“Uh, yeah.” She waved back in spite of herself. “Thanks for flying with us.”

Killua grinned as he tipped back out of the airship. It was only fifty feet or so-- he should be able to make that landing easily as long as he rolled off some of the momentum.

He fell back into open sky, and for the first time in weeks, Killua let himself laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out the first chapter of this thing! I'm planning for this to be a veritable monster by my standards, probably going to run 50-60k (and I've got it all planned out for once)! My plan is to update every sunday, and hopefully a little more so in this next week or so while summer lasts. This thing will contain a ton of angst, and the plan is basically to run from the beginning to the end of the hunter exam arc, but with a bit of a different lens. This is my favorite trope, so I hope you bear with me throughout it! 
> 
> If anyone's interested in writing scraps, various hxh paraphernalia, and what kind of person I am, check out my tumblr at the-rolling-libero, and feel free to hit me up on there!


	2. Overture

_He halted in the wind, and--what was that_  
_Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?_  
_He stood there bringing March against his thought,_  
_And yet too ready to believe the most._

_How is it,_ Killua thought, eyes narrowed. _That I knew exactly where to go, and this guy still beats me here?_

“Good morning!” Called a balding chef, leaning earnestly over his counter.

“Good morning.” The response came in a low, sinuous voice that Killua had gotten to know far too well. “A lovely little shop you’ve got here.”

Hisoka hadn’t changed at all.

Killua sat inside the restaurant he knew to be a front for the Hunter Exam, picking at a bowl of ramen without appetite. He shrugged his backpack higher onto his shoulders. Two free hands and a better center of gravity if he had to run-- not a wasted movement, where Hisoka was concerned. Killua knew that he was supposed to say something to gain access to the exam hall, some combination of phrases that guides either told the applicants or presented themselves. Yes, he recalled that the phrases _existed_ perfectly clearly. He was a little...muddier on the details-- Like what any of them were.

His memory was honed to an abnormal level of perfection, but even he had his limits.

The way he figured it, though, was that he knew who was heading to the Hunter Exam, so he could just listen to the exchanges they gave and copy them. He’d been waiting for Hisoka to finish his meal for half an hour, nerves haywire. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Hisoka would recognize him. _Impossible. At this point, we’d never met._

“I’m finished with my meal,” Hisoka told the chef. “But I’m still not satisfied. Do you suppose I could get a steak lunch?”

An eyebrow raised, the chef gave Hisoka a conspiratory look. “How do you want it?”

“Over low heat,” Hisoka recited. “Grilled _slowly_.”

Killua shuddered. How did he make _cooking instructions_ sound creepy?

“Gotcha. You can head right back.”

A smile curled over Hisoka’s lips as he sauntered to the elevator that Killua knew would take him down to the test site. “Thank you,” he sang.

Before he left, Hisoka pulled a card out of nowhere and played it lovingly over his fingers, rippling in and out of sight. Nothing good came out of Hisoka’s playing cards. A feeling of immediate and inescapable dread slunk down Killua’s spine. Combined with the prickling sensation of being watched, Killua had the feeling that his observations had not gone unnoticed. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later as Hisoka’s gaze leveled his, and it was all Killua could do not to sprint then and there.

Hunger in the iris; frenzy in the pupil; _violence_ in both and somewhere deeper, more encompassing than either.

Hisoka’s bloodlust smothered him, coating Killua's lungs until he was choking on it. The man was barely holding himself back. Hisoka's self control walked a razor wire, one misstep away from ending the lives of everyone here.

An almost invisible flick of the wrist and the card slid through the air, burying itself several inches deep into Killua’s table. Hisoka departed without a word.

Aware that the eyes of every customer in the shop were on him, Killua pried the card free. A short message looped in across the Joker.

_“It’s rude to stare.”_

The first time round, Hisoka had been a threat best avoided, skirted around like an awkward situation or an inopportune disagreement. He’d known that Hisoka was dangerous, maybe even been scared of him.

But he hadn’t been _terrified,_ and what a dangerous mistake that had been.

Shivering, Killua dropped the card to the table and wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t force his breathing into a natural pace. His heart seemed to shudder in his chest, screaming with both a need to run and trapped in absolute paralysis. This was the war of fight or flight.

Killua, hunched over his soup and tried desperately to forget the look in Hisoka’s eyes. He wanted to rip himself out of his skin. Fear tasted bitterly familiar, and Killua couldn’t stand it.

His nails dug into the skin on his arms until the pain whittled through the haze, the sharp grounding him. He couldn’t break down like this after one encounter. He’d had run-ins with as many vicious people as stitches in a tapestry, but without nen he felt naked. To Hisoka he was nothing more than a newborn in a lion’s den.

That settled it. Whatever the repercussions, Killua _needed_ nen.  

He finished the ramen, ordered another, and tried to gather himself enough to face the exam hall.

A whole string of other applicants came through. Killua knew the script by heart. But the thought of being in a room without escape routes with Hisoka and Illumi sent another shiver through him. Maybe he’d have something warm first, something to settle his stomach. Killua pushed out his chair.

He’d been so caught up in the thought of Hisoka that he hadn’t even considered who else would inevitably be coming through the shop.

 _Stupid._ Killua flung himself back into his seat, gaining some attention from a nearby couple. He disregarded them, trying to shrink back as much as possible from the group by the door.

Leorio, tall and angular in that ugly blue suit of his. Kurapika, softer, his face barely hinting at the iron and rust in his blood. And Gon. Of course his eyes lingered on Gon. They always did.

The group was preceded by their presumable guide. _A magical creature_ , Killua noted dully. His thoughts were elsewhere, stolen by the boy in the green jacket. God, he still had the fishing pole. How long had it been since Killua had seen that thing?

There were other things that were achingly familiar about this image, but Killua couldn’t let himself linger on them. He couldn’t let himself think about how Kurapika’s shoulders relaxed as he smiled, so different than the hunched horizon they’d one day form. He couldn’t focus on Gon’s bouncing steps-- how he could hear them now, because Gon had not yet learned the sliding gait of a killer. And shit, when Gon turned to look around the room in awe, he _certainly_ couldn’t fixate, obsessed, riveted, mesmerized, on the light in his eyes.

Killua’s heart beat slowly. Convenient. If it beat too quickly, he wouldn’t have felt it break half so well.

He was so _stupid._ How hadn’t he considered this? Of course Gon and the rest would be here. Somehow he’d reserved that part of his experience to the irreplicable, but it was stupid to think otherwise. He’d gotten so caught up in the thoughts of _his_ Gon that he’d forgotten that one must exist in this world as well.

This Gon still knew what it was like to be sunlight.

Killua buried his head in his hands, feeling the heat of a rising blush. Was he going to have to go through the motions of their early friendship again? He didn’t know if he could; he was a different boy than he had been then, too. The boy that Gon had befriended had been the night sky, eager to find a favorite star. He was something else now, not quite so pure as before. Better, in some ways, but having paid a price for everything he’d gained. He was no longer the absolute dark of midnight; Killua had slipped to dawn, muted, swamped in possibility and doubt and pain. Gon had fallen into dusk.

He’d already decided that he wasn’t sticking to a script. That made this easier. Until he figured out what was going on, he wouldn’t interact with anyone more than he had to. Beyond the group he’d hung out with before, there weren’t any people he _wanted_ to talk to, so that shouldn’t be hard.

The group passed through, and Killua waited several long minutes before he rose.

Killua wove his way to the counter and placed the order. “Steak lunch, low heat, grilled slowly.”

“Well, alright then,” said the chef. He jerked his head towards the door. “You can head on back with the rest of them. Better hurry if you want to make it.”

Nodding stiffly, Killua proceeded to the elevator-- or rather, the room that would act as one.

“Right through here,” another chef gestured, this one smiling in a distinctly customer-service way. Killua ignored her and closed the door behind him.

The plain walls slid by as the floor dropped, and Killua wondered idly if the building had been built like this specifically for the Hunter Exam. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“You forgot something!” The warning from the customer-service chef almost came too late. She yanked open the door and chucked down his badge.

Killua barely managed to grab it before it hit his head. “Huh. Guess I did.” Killua tossed the badge between his hands, deciding to put it somewhere a little less visible this time-- he didn’t want whoever was targeting him in the fourth phase to remember who he was. He shoved it deep into his bag.  

“That’s better,” he said to himself.

The elevator rumbled to a stop, and Killua found himself walking into a crowded room. More people this time, it felt. But then, he’d gotten here within the first hundred last time, rather than arriving in the early _four_ hundreds. Gon and the others really had taken a while to get here.

As if on cue, the door to the elevator slammed shut behind him. Going up for more applicants? Killua couldn’t remember who, if anyone, had come after Gon. They hadn’t really met until the first phase started.

Relieved that he could ignore that problem for now, Killua made his way to the front of the throng. All he had to do was avoid people-- _that’s not so hard._ _As long as I keep an eye out for Gon it should be easy._

“Hey! You’re a rookie, aren’t you?”

_Kill me._

Tonpa, in all his potbellied glory, grinned at Killua like he wasn’t the slimiest bastard here. That nose of his would look better broken. With every second that Tonpa stood there, smiling and offering his hand for Killua to shake, that outcome became likelier and likelier.

“I should introduce myself,” Tonpa said, nonplussed by Killua’s lack of response. “Tonpa. I’ve taken this test thirty five times, so I know a new face when I see one.”

“I wouldn’t brag about your incompetence if I were you,” Killua said, glancing down at his nails. Were they worth bloodying on him? “Makes you look like an easier target.” His gaze snapped up to Tonpa’s and the older man paled. 

“Ah, well, I just like to make people feel welcome, you know? I’m kind of the welcome committee-- not part of the hunter committee but in an unofficial way-- just making sure that rookies, ah, can find their way around,” Tonpa rambled. His eyes flicked to the side, searching for an exit.

“Gee, thanks,” Killua said.  

“It’s no problem at all! Say, do you want some refreshment? I have these drinks--”  

_And no sense of self preservation, apparently._

Killua straightened his spine, wishing that he had the extra few inches his nascent growth spurt had given him. It was so much easier to intimidate when you were tall enough to meet people’s eyes.  

Killua snatched the juice from Tonpas hand and downed it in one gulp. Then he took the can and smashed it against Tonpa’s forehead. “Next time you talk to me, I will personally shove this up your ass.” He tossed the scrunched remains of the can to Tonpa. “Here. Hang on to this for me until then.”

That was one nuisance taken care of; maybe Tonpa would stop bothering rookies for a while after the scare. Maybe it didn’t matter either way-- anyone who’d be caught out by Tonpa’s tricks at this point weren’t going to last until the next phase anyway.

“Just between us,” Hanzo declared, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I’m a ninja.”

Killua’s eyes passed around the room, placing as many people as he could from his memories.

He definitely recognized the others who had passed. Killua hadn’t known all of them well during the exam, but they’d grown into something like a graduating class by the end of their trials. They swapped information, sometimes and some of them had asked after Gon when he was in the hospital.

It would be odd to be strangers again-- but that’s how things were.

A man jostled by and Killua hissed under his breath. The man was headed straight for Hisoka, completely oblivious to the aura of animosity that swathed him.

Killua barely had enough time to begin his escape when another of Hisoka’s cards sliced by--and how had Hisoka even _done_ that? The man was half buried in the wall, obviously in significant pain. Killua grimaced. How unnecessary.

Hisoka could’ve killed him quietly without a thought, but he had to make a show out of it instead. Killua’s lip curled at the thought.

“Pl-please help me--” the man begged, as if anyone could at this point. “Please--”

“You ought to be careful,” Hisoka warned. “If you bump into someone, you have to apologize.”

Killua started to slink away.

“It doesn’t do to be _rude_. “ Hisoka’s voice dropped, and Killua froze. “You never know who you may offend.”

Those words were meant for him.

He was saved a response by the sound of an alarm and the sight of a man descending from the ceiling. Tall naturally and even taller by merit of his tailored suit, Satotz quieted the alarm. He looked out onto the assembly with his customary expression--which was to say hardly an expression at all, his mouth obscured by curling mustachios.  

“The call for applicants is now closed,” Satotz announced. He folded his hands behind his back, raising his eyebrows until the whispers died down.

“I’m pleased to announce the beginning of the Hunter Exam. Please, all of you, come this way.”

Satotz started walking, and the group slowly stumbled after him. As they went, Satotz explained the various risks and rules of the exam. Few seemed to take it seriously, and Killua scoffed. Most of those who didn’t would die pathetically, begging for another chance. The world of hunters offered no second chances. Or at least, he’d thought it didn’t.

Killua reached into his bag and started to pull out his skateboard, but thought better of it. He was weaker than he used to be; this run was a good chance to work a little basic conditioning in. It wasn’t Bisky, but he’d take what he could get.

Killua trotted up towards the front of the group, weaving in and out of people as quietly as possible. He received the occasional odd look, but nothing to concern himself over. Most applicants were a little hostile, a little mistrustful, but not so much that they’d try to start something if he brushed into them wrong.

On the other hand, Killua gave Hisoka a wide, wide berth.

The pace picked up, and then it picked up again.

It was a combination of distracted running, poor planning, and fate’s horrible sense of humor that in avoiding Hisoka, Killua almost walked into Gon.

“Where do you think we’re going?” Gon angled the question at Kurapika. Gon’s hands wrapped tight around his father’s fishing pole, betraying his mixture of excitement and anxiety.

“I don’t know. But I assume that’s part of the exam. The psychological stress of an unknown goal can be quite taxing, especially on a crowd where the sentiment can be echoed back and forth.” Kurapika nodded at a group just behind them, voices low with anger. “It’s already starting to wear on some.”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t see the point of running if you’re not running _towards_ something,” Leorio cut in.

“That’s because you’re a cretin,” Kurapika replied cooly.

Killua couldn’t stifle his snicker.

“Hey, kid, you think you can laugh at me?” Leorio snapped, turning to angle his tough-guy glare at Killua.

Killua disguised the falter in his step with a skip, dancing in front of them. “It’s not like you’ve really got to be qualified for it.”

Leorio let out an undignified sqwawk, but the comment had gotten a chuckle out of Kurapika. God, it was good to see that boy laugh again.

He couldn’t get it out of his head that all of them looked so _young._ They were still soft, clay rather than stone. His body running in a different direction than his thoughts, he offered a quiet smile. _Walk light when your feet feel like stone; when they feel like lead, walk lighter._

“He’s got a point,” Kurapika admitted.

“Kids don’t respect their elders these days,” Leorio sniffed.

“I do!” Gon protested. “The older someone is, the more respect they get, because they have a lot more experience."

Killua’s lips curled into a devious grin. “In that case, Leorio, you should receive plenty of respect. You’re what, forty? Fifty?”

There was no annoyed comeback to Killua’s quip. Instead, he was created by a charged silence and furrowed brows.

“How’d you know my name?”

 _Oops._ Cover, Killua. “You guys aren’t exactly quiet.” Killua shrugged, playing it off as nonchalantly as possible. His lying skills were top notch, as always, but Kurapika still frowned at Killua’s response. Kurapika was too sharp for his own good, a sword’s edge of a mind-- given the chance, it would lance Killua to the bone.

Gon’s face scrunched in the way that it always did when he was trying to run a calculation. “I don’t know if I should introduce myself or not then,” he explained after a long moment. “Since you might already know my name like you knew Leorio’s.” He gave a dazzling grin. “But there’s no harm in trying! I’m Gon Freccs, and I’m twelve years old. What about you?”

Killua didn’t have it in him to respond in kind; he could barely bring himself to look Gon in the eyes, let alone be his best friend. In fact, talking to these people at all had been a bad idea-- now they would remember him, might seek him out. It was just too easy to fall into his old patterns.

Friendliness had grown into quite the bad habit.

“Killua,” he said, all the spunk from his voice draining out with three syllables. “I’m going to go ahead.”

“I’ll come with you!” Gon offered.

“No,” Killua said. “I’d rather you not.”

The pace picked up and Killua took the momentary distraction to edge forwards, jostling and slipping by strangers until he was at the very front of the band. He could taste his heartbeat in his throat. Quiet shivers of panic racked through him, almost invisible under Killua's self control. But these days, that control was an imperfect, mercurial beast, and he was glad that the jostle of running disguised his shaking. 

His heart felt like a crucible for the worst kind of ore imaginable. Grief, nostalgia, guilt-- all were distilled to cruel purity between them, and poured, molten, searing, into a cast of tragedy. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know _how_ to. All he knew was that it was awful.

If this world had been constructed to distract Killua, he would’ve appreciated the effort to make it pleasant.

Running a flustered hand through his hair, Killua compartmentalized it away. Ahead, the examiner, Satotz, stretched his legs to a steady clip. It was easy enough to fall into the rhythm of it, breathing in as his left foot fell and breathing out two steps later. Killua loped along easily, using honest sweat to clean up the mess of his mind. 

The man behind Killua tripped and didn’t get back up again. 

Keeping tabs on the rest of the group was depressing as hell. Killua’d always been better than the majority of them, but even he wasn’t so cold as to be immune to their desperation. He wasn’t immune to most things, just tough enough to deal with them.

Breaking one of the unspoken rules of the exam, Killua increased his pace just enough to run at the examiner’s side.

Satotz gave Killua a curious look, finely arched eyebrows lifting but his pace unfaltering.

“Hi. I’m Killua. Nice to meet you, et cetera,” Killua recited, getting basic formalities out of the way. “How does the hunter committee choose examiners?”

“Satotz, and the same.” Satotz’s arms swept as twin pendulums, the oddest-- yet seemingly efficient-- style of movement that Killua had ever seen. “And that’s classified, I’m afraid. Exam procedures are need to know.”

“I see. Is it fair to say that there _are_ procedures for selecting examiners, at least?”

Satotz inclined his head. “Of course.”

“So you’re qualified in some way, right?”

“I certainly hope so,” Satotz said. “Is this just simple curiosity?”

Killua shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t get a guage on this guy’s nen without being able to access his own, but his own impressions told him that Satotz certainly wasn’t weak, but wasn’t particularly strong either. If Killua had to categorize him, he’d guess that Satotz was more the investigative type of hunter than combative. “If I asked you to show me your ren, what would you say?”

The look Satotz gave him was sharper now. “I’d politely decline.”

“Fair enough.”

They ran in silence for a few minutes, Satotz focused on the path straight ahead. Killua knew that he wouldn’t miss the looks that Killua threw him every couple of seconds-- he wasn’t being anywhere near subtle.

“I assume that you have a reason for your interrogation,” Satotz eventually prompted.

Could Killua trust him? Did he have a choice not to?

“I have some questions about a hypothetical situation, and you seem like the best person to ask.” Killua’s eyes traced the ground in front of him. “It involves nen.”

“You seem rather knowledgeable about the subject yourself,” Satotz said mildly. “But if I can answer it, I suppose I see no reason not to-- especially since it appears that you don't appear able to wield it.”

 _I am abjectly aware of that fact, thanks._  

“I realize that this is kind of strange, but you’re the only nen user around here that seems safe to talk to,” Killua explained, more to himself than Satotz. “And as you said, I’m not exactly able to defend myself.”

His other options were Hisoka and Illumi, and no thanks to both of those.

“I understand completely.”

 _Great._ Killua swallowed. “So, in regards to hatsu, are there any nen abilities that affect people’s minds?”

“Certainly,” Satotz said. “Though they’re rarer than physical abilities, because they tend to take a very different type of training.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Satotz said, tilting his head up pensively. “You have to learn to manipulate another person’s aura rather than your own. Of course, if you totally fail to train your own aura, then you’re vulnerable to physical attacks, and it’s a heavily frowned upon. The ethical quandries, you understand--”

“So it’s a manipulator-type ability?” Killua cut him off; he didn’t _care_ about the technicalities, he only cared about narrowing down the field of who could have done this.

It was highly unlikely that a nen user had created a whole world based off of Killua’s memories. To even think of such an undertaking made Killua’s head hurt-- yes, advanced nen users like Knov could make small, temporary spaces, but a whole world was pushing the limits of even superhuman capability. It was more likely that Killua had somehow been trapped inside his own mind.

“Manipulator or specialist, generally speaking,” Satotz replied, unruffled by Killua’s interjection.

He hadn’t made any manipulator-type enemies, not that he could remember. A phantom troupe member, then?

_None of this makes sense. There are too many holes._

Fuck it-- he might as well come out and ask it. It was wishful thinking, but he needed to know if it were _possible._  “Is there any way that a nen ability could cause someone to travel in time?”

This gave the examiner pause. “Let me think--” Satotz hummed to himself. “To be honest, I don’t know. There’s a lot that’s possible with nen. I _have_ heard of some specialists that have abilities to do with time, but I’ve never explored the idea. It’s often said that nen users appear to be able to read their enemy’s minds, but that’s more psychology and the interpretation of body language than prediction. I assume working with the past is more easily achievable-- but this is just speculation, you understand.”

“Right. Thanks, Satotz.”

“Having shared with you the breadth of my knowledge, can I ask why you’ve fixed on this subject?”

Killua grinned up at Satotz. “School project.”

And with that he fell silent, legs pumping automatically as his mind ran over what he’d been told-- which, come to think of it, hadn’t been a whole lot. It all just added to the mess of questions that Killua found roaming and rambling free in his head.

If Killua took one thing out of the conversation, it was this; whatever was going on, his decisions from this point on _mattered._ It wasn’t likely that he’d run in against a time specialist, but he couldn’t take that chance.

_Until I find any evidence otherwise, I have to assume that this is real._

Killua had just been winging most of his actions, reacting to the situation rather than planning things out. He may have already altered the future-- and if he was stuck here, he’d have to live with those repercussions for the rest of his life.

Pressure upon pressure stacked in Killua’s head. What could he change? What should he keep the same? How much of it was within his control? Were there any events that _had_ to happen?

He was suddenly glad for the length of the run-- it’d give him time to get his thoughts straight, catalogue the events he remembered, and make a plan going forwards.

First, he would figure out a way to get his nen.

“Hey, Satotz,” Killua chimed. “Any possibility that you’d be willing to awaken my nen for me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Alright, thanks anyways.”

Killua hadn’t expected anything different. Wing had told the that the procedure was rarely carried out due to its dangerous nature; Killua wasn’t sure he’d even trust Satotz to do it if the man _had_ said yes.

He’d figure out something later. But then what? After he could defend himself, what did he want to do?

Gon’s body, prone on the ground, violent rivers of nen rushing out of him. Gon’s face, shriveled and unsightly, twisted by grief. Gon’s eyes, relentless, empty.

It wasn’t a matter of what Killua wanted to do. It was a matter of necessity. Whatever it took, Killua had to stop Gon from reaching the Chimera Ants. The only way to prevent him from giving into his grief was to never let him be there in the first place; if it were anyone else, Killua might’ve thought that he could talk to them, prepare them for what was going to happen, but this was Gon. No amount of consolation would fill the cavern that grief had scraped in him. In his world, Gon was irreparable.

But if he found the cracks early, stitched them up and stopped them from growing, then perhaps-- _perhaps._

They’d gone straight from Greed Island to the Chimera Ants. They’d gone straight from York New to Greed Island-- they’d come practically straight from the Hunter Exam to York New. Killua felt like a member of a bomb squad, staring down an army of wires. Which one to cut? Which ones to save?

The best way to cure infection was to stop the wound from opening in the first place. The only way that he could save Gon was to stop the whole chain of events from ever happening; and if that meant changing everything, so be it.

Killua would tear a new world out of the beating heart of the old, whatever scars it would leave. He would take away the axis that his future turned around, and make this globe turn backwards. Gon would not find the Chimera Ants. Gon would not go to Greed Island. Gon wouldn’t even go to York New city-- not if he could change this.

Killua knew what he had to do.

Gon could not pass the Hunter Exam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops two chapters in two days what? I'm flying out for university tonight, so I'm hoping to get some writing done on the plane as well-- I want to get as much of this down before I start uni as I can.
> 
> Also, a note-- I've been using the '99 version for reference, and while that doesn't have too much significance at this point, it'll grow to have more and more as the story goes on. For instance, I'm planning on incorporating the 3.5th exam on the ship, because I love it and no one can take it away from me. I grew up on 99 hxh and I'll take it to the grave, so be prepared! If you're not familiar with those events, I'm going to write them out pretty much in full (with, of course, some time shenanigans), so you don't need to have watched the 99 version to get what's going on. 
> 
> Canonically, we do know that there are nen abilities that affect the mind-- Pakunoda, for one. We don't know if she was a manipulator or a specialist, but either seems possible. Then we have Neon's power, which I see as time based (being able to predict the future) so basically, there is...some precedent for this nonsense. 
> 
> Many thanks again for reading, and I hope to post soon!


	3. Canon

_When we locked up the house at night,_   
_We always locked the flowers outside_   
_And cut them off from window light._

 

 

Killua didn’t bother to conceal his yawn. They’d been running for-- what 60, 70 kilometers now?-- and the universe had failed to provide anything interesting. People at the back dropped out, and people at the front had gotten quieter. Even Hanzo’s overenthusiastic avowals of secrecy died down as they encountered the stairs.  

Killua loped easily up the stairs, watching the the pack fall away behind him. _So weak,_ he thought. _All of them are so weak._ His own body was corded with sinewed iron, slicked with sweat. _But so am I._

Not too far back, Leorio ripped off his shirt, and Kurapika tucked his tabard away in his satchel. Killua’s eyes narrowed. If those two were over there, where was the third?

“You’re really strong!” Killua started at Gon’s shout, coming only a few steps behind. _When did he--?_

“Thanks,” Killua replied evenly.

“You’ve been running up at the front the whole time,” Gon marveled. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Not really.”

Gon nodded sagely. “It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. It’s just running, you know?”

“Yeah,” Killua agreed. He cast his gaze upwards, trying to gauge how much further ahead he’d have to run to be out of earshot. “It’s pretty boring, I guess.”

“If you’re bored, you should come run with Kurapika and Leorio and me!”

Killua snorted. “And get stuck with Leorio’s running stench? No thanks.”

Behind, Leorio scowled. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” Gon said, but Killua could hear a giggle creeping up on his voice.

This wasn’t right; He was making Gon laugh when he wasn’t supposed to be talking to him at all-- how was Killua supposed to undermine Gon if they ended up friends again? No matter how _impossibly_ right it would feel to follow that path, he couldn’t.

 _Self control, Killua._ Like he’d ever had any when it came to Gon. _Willpower. Strength. Isolation._

“Hey,” Gon said, breaking Killua from his reverie. “Why’re you taking the exam?”

Killua shrugged. If he didn’t respond, maybe Gon would go away.

“I want to be a hunter so that I can find my dad, Ging Freccs,” Gon declared. “He left me and my Aunt Mito when I was just a baby, and I’ve wanted to find him ever since. Can you imagine what it’s like, being a hunter? What could possibly be so amazing that you’d leave your kid behind?” Gon shook his head, that determination that would eventually condemn him blazing in his eyes. “I don’t know, but all I want to do is find out.”

“Maybe he’s just a dick.” _Shut him down._

“Maybe he is,” Gon said agreeably, “but I _have_ to know, you know?”

“Yeah.”

Killua couldn’t keep his answers all less committal than that, but Gon could keep up a conversation with a brick wall.

“So you’re just here for the fun of it?” Gon prompted.“It’s pretty easy so far, but I can see how it could be fun.”

“I’m here to pass, okay?” Killua snapped. “Not to be pestered by kids.”

Killua could just barely make out Leorio’s grumble, a dark-- “Whats’ this guy’s problem?”

He couldn’t explain it to any of them. They wouldn’t believe him, and even if they would, Killua couldn’t bear to place that burden on them. They didn’t understand that Gon’s connections would become entanglement, that his openness would be nothing but chinks in his armor, that the fierce determination that earned him his license would twist to wrench away his world.

 _Gon’s world, or mine?_ They had become the same. No, that wasn’t right-- _Gon_ had become Killua’s world. Gon was a flower that could bloom in the arctic, the living memory of a tropical sun, but his vines had wrapped around and around Killua, strangling tighter with every petal. Killua hadn’t complained.

Now he would stop the seeds from rooting, and everything would be different.

“Aren’t we the same age?” Gon asked, unperturbed by Killua’s snipiness.

Killua didn’t respond. He angled his shoulders and sped up.

“I get it if you’re not the chatty type. We can still be friends,” Gon offered.  

Shoulders higher, feet faster. His body could be a wall between him and Gon if only he could find the room. Gon kept apace, short legs stretching to accommodate.

“We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want,” Gon said.

“That’s the goal,” Killua shot back.

“D’ya want to race instead?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Gon asked.

“Yes.”

Killua worked his legs faster, putting on a burst of speed that put him ahead of Satotz. Gon was weaker now, there was no way that he could keep up--

“I’m going to race you, even if you’re not racing me!” Gon called. He drew even to Killua’s shoulder with a grin.

Shooting an annoyed glance at Gon, Killua bit his cheek and pushed himself even faster. His legs half blurred as he leapt up the steps, three at a time, quads burning with each jump. Killua shot a look over his shoulder to see Gon panting just behind. In the second that he slowed down to look, Gon shot ahead-- and _fuck_ if he was going to let that happen.

Killua’s lungs shook. His heart felt like it was going to shatter his ribs with its pounding, but he didn’t care. Winding words and twisting ideas slipped away beneath his feet, replaced by stone and competition.

Every couple of seconds Killua threw his gaze to Gon. Eyes bright, Gon let his mouth hang open to pant-- _like a dog,_ Killua couldn’t help thinking-- but he never slowed. _Come on._ _I’m better than this._ Killua’s neck strained as he pushed himself harder, farther, faster.

Before either of them knew it, they were out, bright sunlight lancing their eyes. Gon let out a happy crow,“I win!”

“That’s a lie,” Killua countered. “You were a full second behind!”

Gon paused mid-celebratory strut. “So we _were_ racing then?” Killua didn’t have time to splutter a response, Gon’s grin growing wider with each second. “Now I win _twice!_ I crossed the finish line first, and Killua admitted that we were racing!”

Leorio and Kurapika stumbled out of the tunnel, Leorio’s face doing a concerning impression of an overripe tomato. “Congratulations, Gon,” Kurapika said.

“He didn’t _win_ anything,” Killua muttered.

“I did so!”

“Actually, boys, I’d say it was an honest tie,” Satotz cut in.

Instead of protesting, Killua just shoved his hands in his pockets and paced away.

He’d let himself get caught up in Gon’s rhythm, lost his head in that easy beat. Gon _had_ won that one, though it was a different battle than Gon’d thought he was fighting.

Shit shit _shit,_ why couldn’t Killua keep his head straight? This wasn’t _his_ Gon-- this Gon didn’t even _know_ him. They hadn’t shared anything, hadn’t even had a real conversation, and Gon was still talking and insisting on being his friend like they’d been friends for years. Gon had always been aggressively friendly, but _this--_ was this what the examiners had meant when they’d ranked his potential? Gon was magnetic in the worst way,

The more he talked to Gon, the less resolve he had. Failing the Hunter Exam would be heartbreaking for Gon.

_Better to live with a broken heart than die with a shattered soul._

The rest of the group straggled up, most with far more pride in their eyes than their feat deserved.

The gates slammed shut, and Satotz regained the examinee’s attention. “Applicants,” Satotz announced to the odd two hundred remaining. “You’ve made it this far, and for that I commend you.”  

_Aw, thanks._

“Before you lies the Milsy Wetlands, also known as Swindler’s swamp.” Satotz gestured behind him. “We must pass through here in order to reach the site of Phase Two. But be warned,” Satotz said, holding out a cautionary finger. “The strange creatures here will resort to every trick to deceive people and turn them to fodder.”

A grumble rippled through the crowd, a susurration of dissent.

“That,” Satotz concluded. “Is why it’s called Swindler’s Swamp.”

Killua _hated_ this place.

The ground was spongy, the air was thick, and the entire swamp was swathed with a malicious miasma. Satot cut a startling silhouette, sharp and angular against the curling marsh beyond. Every tendril, every hanging vine, crawled as far as inattention would let it grow; then, noticed, the treeline would shrink back, laying ever so slightly closer than before. If Killua didn’t know better, he’d say it was a trick of the light. But he’d been in Swindler’s Swamp before, and he knew its rule: if something looked like it was trying to eat you, it probably was.

The doorway they’d come out of clacked close. The muttering of the crowd grew louder.

“We’re stuck out here, for better or for worse,” Kurapika murmured.

Satotz cleared his throat. “You must follow me very _carefully,_ ” he said. “If you get tricked, you will most likely die.”

“That’s a strange thing to say.” Leorio started forward, his tension written across him far too obviously. Jaw set, Leorio crossed his arms. “We won’t fall for their tricks if we know they’re out to trick us,” he declared.

Killua’s eyes flicked to the side of the building a half second before everyone else; there it was.

“It’s a lie! He’s a fraud!”  

A tall ginger man stood as a testament of survival, bruised and beaten at the side of the clearing. One hand clutched a satchel like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, and the other pointed accusation towards Satotz. “He isn’t your proctor!” He shouted. “ _I am_!”

Murmur grew to chatter grew to overwhelming discord; every applicant turned to their neighbor, exclamation quick to their lips.

“A fraud?” One woman said. “What does that mean?”

 _“_ Then who the hell is standing there?”

_They’ll sort this out eventually._

Killua wandered to the edge of the clearing, ignoring the commotion as he crouched down to examine the ground. Firm enough, here, but it’d get softer as they went. He’d have to save energy for the second half of the trip, as they got deeper into the swamp. He hadn’t run this much the first time, and he was beginning to feel the exertion.

Killua’s head snapped to attention at a sudden pressure. _Why?_  

“A fraud?” Hanzo asked.

Leorio stood as intercessor, demanding proof from the fake proctor.

“This man looks just like the man faced apes,” the man presented, throwing a burlap sack to the ground. Water seeped through the open bag, filtering through the fur of a monkey that bore a startling resemblance to Satotz. “He’s one of them!”

Killua wasn’t concerned with any of that. The sparking debate that went back and forth, tilting towards the fake proctor with every second. He hadn’t changed enough for there to be some sort of new attack, had he? The sense of threat only grew

“It’ll kill all you applicants so that it can devour you!” The fake proctor claimed, and people were listening. Would the fake proctor attack? Was that what was setting Killua’s nerves on edge?

He wasn’t the only one; the whole group jostled restless, hissing to their neighbors and writhing like snakes in the sand. Mistrust spilled through the air, carried by heavy humidity and the group mentality of their trial.

Gon’s voice cut bright as song through that deadly whisper.

“Is this part of the exam?” Gon asked. His comment somehow dissolved the tension built amongst the crowd. The mob mentality fizzled into the air, and Killua was almost tempted to relax. But that hadn’t been what Killua was concerned about. He shifted onto his toes, ready to make a run for it the second that the attack came-- with this much pent up aggression, there was no way it wasn’t coming.

Killua shifted backwards, away from the crowd, hoping that whatever was coming would target them first. As he slid past Hisoka, the realization slid like ice to his stomach. This aggression, this bloodlust, was so intense that it felt foreign-- but it was Hisoka, built to the point of near madness.

Domineering, Hisoka’s bloodlust beat like an animal caught inside a drum. All that separated him from destruction was a thin veneer of self control, cracking for every second he spent surrounded by fresh, easy blood. But he wasn’t focused on the crowd, the hundred he could kill by sheer presence alone-- his eyes were fixed on Satotz.

Killua racked his memory for an explanation. Killua’s instincts screamed that there would be blood soon.

The man faced ape; the fake proctor-- Killua remembered now.

Wild eyed, Killua whirled to face the examinees. When?

“A hunter would have a license to prove his status,” Kurapika explained to Gon.

 _Soon,_ Killua thought. _It’ll be soon._ He surreptitiously put himself as far out Hisoka’s way as he could.

“He stole my license!” The fake proctor proclaimed.

Killua flicked his eyes between Hisoka and Satotz. Hisoka pulled out his deck of cards; Killua traced the line of attack.

Killua didn’t know if it was because of his actions or some random variation in the timeline, but his stomach dropped. It made sense that even the smallest changes would affect this world in a thousand minute ways-- ripples and all of that. And it made sense in this harsh, exacting world, that the smallest change could mean life or death.

Low and cold, dread hung on Killua like fog. In this timeline, Gon stood right in the path of Hisoka’s card. Killua’s heart sounded in his ears, urging him to run, knowing that if he did it was Gon’s death sentence.

It would only take a nudge, and everything would be fine. But Killua was frozen.

_What the hell?_

His legs wouldn’t move. His heart wouldn’t start. His feet were light as always, but they could’ve been lead, swallowed by the ground.

Killua’s eyes skittered to the man going by the name of Gittakur. _Illumi._ The needle. He hadn’t taken it out in this timeline. _No, I need to move. Please--”_

Killua cursed. Gon’s ears pricked and the boy shot him a concerned look.

“Hm,” Kurapika said, focused on the proctors before him. “That makes the question of the license useless for determining which of you is the true tester.”

Hisoka flicked his wrist.

“Gon, my name’s Killua,” Killua burst out. Gon immediately perked up and turned to offer Killua his hand. Killua watched with heart in throat as Hisoka’s card slit through where Gon had just stood.

Gon’s friendliness had just saved his life.  

“I knew you’d come around!” Gon said. “And you’re twelve too, right?”

“Yeah,” Killua said absently, waiting for the panic to flood out of him. He kept waiting, and it didn’t happen; what if he Gon hadn’t moved as Killua predicted? What if Killua had inadvertently caused Gon’s death in his attempt to spare him?

Gon had to fail, but until he did, Killua had to keep him safe. He suppressed the tremor in his voice as he spoke. “I guess I am.”  

Their conversation was cut predictably short as Hisoka’s cards sailed home, straight into the fake proctor’s skull. Satotz caught Hisoka’s attack towards him easily between two fingers.

“What the hell, man?” A particularly stupid examinee shouted. Oh, wait, that was Leorio. An _exceptionally_ stupid examinee.

“I see, I see,” Hisoka mused, shuffling his deck back and forth. “This way is quicker, isn’t it?

_Bastard, you just wanted an excuse to try to fight Satotz._

The ‘dead’ monkey jumped to life, making a run for it for all of five seconds. Another of Hisoka’s cards made the act much more realistic.

“I guess this one confirms that you’re the real one, doesn’t it?” Hisoka said to Satotz. Killua shivered; he could _feel_ the challenge in Hisoka’s voice. “The hunter that we all so hope to become _must_ be capable of dodging a mild attack like that.”

To his credit, Satotz was unperturbed. Killua wasn’t entirely sure that Satotz knew how to be perturbed, because if there was anything to be perturbed about, it was definitely this.

“I will take that as a compliment,” Satotz allowed. He flicked the card away. “But any further violence aimed at a proctor, under any circumstance, will be deemed as meriting immediate disqualification. Do I make myself clear?”

“I understand _completely_.”  

Kurapika turned to Gon. “A hunter wouldn’t be deceived by the likes of a man faced ape. It was obvious that man was a fake proctor the moment he said his license had been stolen,” he explained. “Hisoka must’ve known that, and he still chose to attack a proctor...” Kurapika shook his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Gon looked the same, but for a different reason. He’d never been scared enough of Hisoka for his own good. Gon’s eyes fixed on the ape.

“Don’t bother thinking about that thing,” Leorio shot. “It’s ugly and dead and knew what it was getting into.”

“Indeed,” Satotz said. “Entrapment is the bread and water of these wetlands. In the struggle to survive, not all things can win out. Survival of the fittest-- that is the rule of this swamp.”

“Don’t get so emotional about it, I can’t stand it,” Killua muttered. He had far less a taste for death these days. Survival of the fittest was a hard rule, harsh and false. In a world where adaptation was the only way to survive, the Chimera Ants were kings. When people helped each other rather than competed, where they worked together to grow stronger rather than force others to grow weaker-- perhaps a utopian idea, but way back he and Gon’d had it.

“Perhaps we should move forwards towards phase two,” Satotz led.

A swarm of vultures, more teeth than feathers, ripped apart the carcass of the man faced ape. Killua looked away. There was something wrong with watching this desecration. The monkey’s death stemmed from his partner’s failure, and their friendship had failed to save them.

 _Don’t be so morbid._ Very rarely had talking himself out of emotion worked, but it was worth a shot.

Satotz started off again, picking up the pace right where he’d left off. Killua started forwards with the rest of them, breaking quickly back to the front of the pack.

As the fog set in, so did Killua’s fears.

“Don’t lose the proctor,” Killua told Gon. “If you do, you’ll never find your way out of here.” _And stay far, far from Hisoka. Also, stop talking to Gon. Also, actually listen to yourself for once._

Gon nodded. “And that means we’ll get to run together.”

Killua just sighed.

“Kurapika, Leorio!” Gon called. “Killua said we better move to the front!”

Looking back at the pair, Killua could see that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Then he couldn’t see much at all as the fog drew thicker, and he couldn’t worry about them any more. They’d passed the first time, and Killua had every confidence in Kurapika’s strength. As for Leorio, well, he always managed to figure something out.

Right now, Killua had to focus on the path in front of him. Satotz was just a vaguely pointed shadow, and he couldn’t count on that to remain true.

“I can’t see Kurapika and Leorio any more,” Gon muttered.

“You can’t worry about them right now,” Killua snapped. “It’s not safe to go back.”

Killua should’ve known better than to tell Gon ‘no’. Hardly any sooner had he said it than Gon looked back again, determination printed on his brow. “Gon, if you go back, you’re out of the running. You’ll never find your way back without the proctor.” A cheap shot, but Gon cared more about becoming a hunter than anything. And when Gon’s goals and his morals came into conflict, Killua’d learn to count on the former.

“Avoid the lights,” Killua cautioned. “They’re just creatures trying to lure you in. And the moths,” he said, remembering as he spoke. “They’ll cause hallucinations with their dust. And if the ground changes color suddenly, it’s probably a land-fish trying to eat you.”

“You know a lot about this place, Killua,” Gon said, a tinge of awe in his voice.   

“I like to travel.”

“Is that what you do?” Gon asked. “When you’re not taking the hunter exam? Do you travel around places like this?”

“I--” Killua was getting dangerously close to disclosing personal information, to giving Gon the familiarity that he craved.

After visiting Whale Island, Killua understood something; however lonely Killua was, growing up surrounded by his family and his staff, Gon was the same. Whale Island wasn’t the Zoldyck manor, with its warm island sun instead of cold marble halls, but Gon had grown up around adults; he’d never had a playmate his age. He’d never had a regular friend.

Killua wished he could give that to Gon, but he couldn’t. Not this time.

“I’m just a regular kid,” Killua said.

Gon’s eyes sparkled. “What’s that like?”

 _Shit, what_ is _that like?_ Killua hadn’t thought his answer through, just hoping to limit the conversation. “I, uh, go to school.” Killua was pretty sure kids did that. “Hang out with friends.” He shrugged. So far so good. “Go to the arcade and gamble, you know.”

“Ah, that sounds really nice,” Gon said. “I’m from Whale Island, which is a pretty small place in the middle of the--”

“I know where it is.”

“You do? That’s great! Have you ever been? Or do you learn geography in school? See, my school was just my aunt Mito, the woman who raised me, so I don’t know what regular kids learn in schools. What’re classes like? Do you ever get distracted by having so many people in class with you? Do you pass notes to talk? I’ve heard that’s a thing.”

Killua’s eyebrows drew together. He didn’t even know where to _begin_ answering those questions.  

“Oh, sorry, I’m being too chatty again, aren’t I? I forget that not everyone likes that. If you want some space, that’s okay with me too,” Gon amended.

Killua shrugged and turned his eyes forwards. As long as they got to the second examination safely, Killua was sure that he could make Gon fail in a way that didn’t endanger his life--however he was doing that.

“I’m worried about Kurapika and Leorio,” Gon said after several long minutes. “They’re not following.”

“I’m sure they are. Come on.” Satotz’s figure receeded as Gon slowed down. “They’ll catch up.”

“They’re _not,_ ” Gon ground out. “Leorio’s scent is only getting fainter.”

“...His scent?”

“The wind’s blowing towards us. If Leorio were following, I’d be able to smell his cologne on it!”

Killua squinted at Gon. Leorio and Kurapika _had_ made it to the second stage last time-- obviously-- but he had no idea how. Was this part of it?

“It’s up to them to keep up.”

Gon shook his head. “I’m going back.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Gon. It’s dangerous.”

“So?” Gon countered. “I know they’re not your friends, but they’re mine! I’m going back.”

_“This doesn’t concern you,” Gon seethed, eyes dark and unreadable, devoid of sympathy or soul or sanity. Killua took a step back, shocked at the seething hatred in those eyes. Who was this? Who was this Gon, who made Killua so afraid? Neferpitou, Komugi, Gon-- Killua turned and ran from them all._

“Whatever,” Killua said, choking on memory.

Resolute, Gon spun on his heal and dashed the way he’d come.

“What an idiot,” Hanzo declared. “Running back to save the others, he’s just failed himself.”

“Yeah,” Killua agreed. “What a dumbass.”

He ran after Gon.

The moment that Killua broke with the group, he slipped into the shadows and let himself become part of them.  

 _Unless Gon’s in serious danger_ , Killua vowed to himself. _I keep my hands out of this._

Killua trekked through the marsh, following Leorio’s bellowing voice and the sound of screams. Sweat beaded Killua’s brow at the fact that they came from the same location.

Though the fog had not yet dispersed, enough air had moved-- though _seeped_ seemed closer to the way that air moved in this swamp-- to make the clearing visible. Stage right, Gon, brown eyes fixing wolfish through the trees. Stage left, Leorio, Kurapika, and Pokkle, crouched low and ready. Center stage: Hisoka. Eyes narrow, skin pale, mouth drawn into a sickle-slice smile, Hisoka stole the spotlight, but Killua’s eyes couldn’t help but trace over the bodies scattered on the ground. .

“They fail,” Hisoka half-sang. “All of them, they all fail. Only you three remain.”

“Damn you,” Kurapika grit, dropping into a fighting stance.

Hisoka’s smile just grew wider. “Shall I start--” he trailed off, cocking his head to the side. “With you?” The ground sank and squished under Hisoka’s feet as he stalked towards Leorio. Killua stiffened; if Hisoka reached Leorio, there was no telling what he would do. He’d come back to save Gon, but he couldn’t let any of them to die out here-- not even Leorio. What did that mean, that ‘they failed’?

“When I give you the cue,” Pokkle said, keeping his voice low. “We all run in different directions.”

“What?” Leorio balked.

“He’s strong,” Pokkle said. _No shit._ “Every killer has a moment of hesitation when he’s about to kill someone.” _Amateurs._ “But he has none of that.” _Because he’s like me._

“We have no chance of winning against him,” Kurapika admitted. “Even if we attacked in concert...”

_So run._

“I assume you both have your own reasons to become hunters,” Pokkle said. “And I don’t like it either, but if you want to stand any chance, you have to run.”

Hisoka took a step forward.

In the split second between one second and the next, slim as a blade of grass, Pokkle, Kurapika, and Leorio shot off. Each ran in different directions-- as close to a good strategy as you got in this kind of situation.

Killua’s breath puffed out. They were safe, at least. Killua’s gaze shifted to Gon-- the boy hadn’t moved, and Killua couldn’t figure out why. If Kurapika and Leorio were making a run for it, surely he’d go after them?

Silent, Killua put his face in his hands. _They’re idiots. My friends are actual, verifiable, suicidal idiots._

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” Hisoka called. “One, two, three--” his countdown was cut short as the hazy but dismayingly recognizable form of Leorio materialized at the edge of the clearing.

Hisoka’s voice slid low. “Oh, my.”

“I couldn’t do it after all,” Leorio said. “I guess I’m not a big enough man to take a beating without fighting back.” He let out a yell and rushed forwards, armed with nothing but a knife. _Prideful bastard._

Killua’s hands clenched into fists as Hisoka sliced Leorio’s weapon in two. Light as air, Hisoka leapt into the air and landed just behind Leorio. Leorio barely had time to react. He swung around with a graceless swipe, but Hisoka was fast. Faster than this, surely-- dragging out the kill?

Leorio let out a grunt as Hisoka seized his face. Those hands had the power to crush his jaw. Smirking, Hisoka raised Leorio until the man’s toes just barely grazed the ground. A stuttering breath as Leorio met Hisoka’s gaze. There was a visible moment that Leorio registered what lurked wild in Hisoka’s yellow eyes. _Run._ Leorio’s face froze, half terror, half brazen determination. _Run._

“Hm.” Hisoka turned Leorio from side to side as if he were a piece of art, needing to be examined from all angles.

_Run._

“What a nice face,” Hisoka purred. “All that--” he shuddered. “Anger and _fighting spirit,_ just starting to be clouded over by a momentary fear of death.” Leorio’s face flushed even redder. “It gives me a _rush._ Unfortunately, I think that’s all over now.”

_Run._

Illumi’s face again, the pressure of overwhelming danger. Sweat dripped down Killua’s face and his hands dug tighter into fists, digging nailmarks into his palms. _Run, Killua._ His nails bit deeper, blood on his palms. _Killua, run._

 _Run!_ No.

 _Run!_ no.

 _Killua, run!_ no _Run!_ no _Run, run, run, run, run run run run runnorunrunrunrunrun_

Red tore a wound in the sky, and Gon’s fishing line sailed into the clearing like a flying fury. The head of it slammed into Hisoka’s cheek. Leorio crumpled to the ground, breath rushing hard as water through a broken dam. It seemed as if he’d stolen Killua’s ability to breathe.

He should’ve taken the needle out as soon as he’d remembered it was there. _Fuck._

Killua fell to a knee, head pierced by harsh, bright, lancing, pain. Illumi reminding him of what he already knew-- this wasn’t just a matter of willpower. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t do anything but fold, collapsing into a tangled ball on the floor of the forest. There were sticks digging into his arms and burrs on his legs, and Killua focused on that. Good pain. Clean pain, nothing like the dark fire that burned his eyes for every moment he stayed.

Killua had known pain, but god, Illumi _knew his limit_.

Trembling, Killua forced his eyes open to watch the scene before him.

“You’re pretty good, kid,” Hisoka said. Gon panted on the outskirts of the clearing, looking no softer for the compliment; all was anger in his eyes. “A fishing rod, huh? An interesting weapon. Will you let me see it?” Hisoka started towards Gon. “May I?”

Killua rose to shaking hands and knees. He took a staggering crawl forwards, but his arms gave out from under him. Gon’s hands tightened on his fishing rod.

“Now then,” Hisoka said. Killua rose again. He didn’t even make it a step this time.

“I’m your opponent!” Leorio called, breaking into a run. Weaponless, weak, he thought to tackle Hisoka. The fist that knocked him to the edge of the glade was a mercy.

But Gon-- Killua pounded a fist against the ground. It always came down to this. It always came down to _weakness_. He pushed himself up on that fist, then the other, than raised himself, swaying, to his feet. His left hand crushed the trunk of a tree in a perversion of support.

Gon launched himself into the air and made as if to strike Hisoka across the face with his fishing rod. Half a second later Hisoka was gone, faded in as the fog and reappearing as a ghost. He caught Gon around the neck.

Gon’s hands clawed, fruitless, at Hisoka’s.

Dark waves lapped at the edge of Killua’s vision. He could barely catch Hisoka’s words as he leaned in to Gon, considering him from far too close. “You came back to rescue your friend, didn’t you?” He murmured. “What a good kid.”

Visage murderous as night, Hisoka reached to prod at Gon’s face. He was polishing Gon like a piece of silver. Violent aura or no, Killua realized that Hisoka wouldn’t hurt him. This was some sort of...assessment. Hisoka was playing proctor.  

“Yep,” Hisoka chirped. “You pass!” Ignoring the confusion clear on Gon’s face, Hisoka angled his next statement towards Kurapika-- Killua, for all his sharp skills and senses, hadn’t even noticed him arrive in the clearing. “And you came back as well, did you? How wonderful. It’s so nice to have friends, isn’t it?”

 _They were all ready to die for each other so quickly,_ Killua thought. _They barely know each other’s names, and yet they all came back._

_I wouldn’t have done the same._

He hadn’t deserved the friends he’d made. He still didn’t-- for all the growth and willpower and strength that he’d gained, he was still unable to help his friends when it came down to it. He should’ve been able to push through, should’ve been able to think of _something._

Hisoka’s smile grew treacherously wide. “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him,” Hisoka said, scooping up Leorio over his shoulder. “Because he also passed the test.”

“What does that mean?” Gon exclaimed.

“Hm?”

Gon planted himself, setting up to fight. “Give Leorio back!”

Hisoka tossed a look over his shoulder, taunting, beckoning. “If you want him back, catch up with me.” With that he took off into the woods, fading almost immediately to nothing but fog.

Gon collapsed, hand on his heart and face blank as he-- Killu assumed-- came to terms with everything that’d just happened.

“Gon!” Kurapika called. “Gon, are you alright?”

A pause. Gon nodded. “...Yeah. I was just _terrified._ But it was kind of exciting,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

The two reunited and started off the way that Hisoka had gone, Gon leading the way.

Somehow, they had all survived. The danger was gone. Killua’s burden lifted and his airway opened.

The second that he felt motion return to his limbs, he sharpened his hand and dug it straight into his scalp-- one needle, sharp and bright in his palm. Killua’s lip curled as he tossed it away. Next time he wouldn’t be caught so unawares.

But that just went to show-- even _knowing_ to some extent what was going to happen, the future could easily spiral out of his control. These next few weeks were going to be careful going.   

“You’re bleeding, and I didn’t even attack _you._ ” Hisoka’s voice filtered through the muggy air and Killua shot up the nearest tree on instinct. “Goodness. You don’t have to hide up there. It’s not any safer.”

“Hisoka,” Killua hissed. “What do you want?”

Hisoka picked his way through the undergrowth with a grin. “Parlay.” He held his palms flat up, as if he couldn’t Killua with his bare hands.

Killua didn’t respond, just watched carefully from his perch in the tree.

“Oh, don’t be so _guarded._ We’re all friends here.”

“Where’s Leorio?”

“I dropped him off and came back to chat. I almost didn’t notice you, hiding in the woods, but I thought you might want to chat. I wouldn’t come back to _fight_ you, so relax.”

Killua snorted, relaxing some despite himself. If Hisoka were going to attack him, he would’ve done so already.

“I can’t use lines like that on you, can I?” Hisoka mused. “You’re like me. A whimsical liar.”

Rolling his eyes, Killua leaned agaisnt the trunk of the tree. “A transmuter, but not the same kind as you.”

“Hm.”

If Killua were Hisoka, he knew what he’d be doing. “There’s no point in using gyo,” Killua informed Hisoka. “You’ve probably figured it out by now, but I’ve not trained my aura yet.”

“And I’m sure you have an excellent reason for that. Would you mind sharing it?”

“My reasons are my own.”

Hisoka’s eyes lit. “I’m rather private too-- how the similarities just pile up. Only, I don’t think I’m half as rude as you.”

“Whatever floats your boat. I should start to head to the exam site.”

Still smiling, Hisoka made a beckoning gesture and Killua felt himself yanked from the tree by his left hand. He landed as gracefully as he could, suddenly on high alert. He’d been careful to avoid even _brushing_ Hisoka, but he’d failed to avoid this.

“Since you can’t use gyo, I suppose I should explain what I’ve just done. One of my abilities I like to call Bungee Gum,” Hisoka started. “A transmutation of my aura so that it--”

“Has the properties of both rubber and gum?”

_That shut him up._

“How clever you are,’ Hisoka said, this time with a bit of edge to his voice. Good. Let him think that Killua was dangerous, too. “And more interesting by the moment.”

“My apologies for that. Can I go?”

Hisoka stalked over and Killua had to force his shoulders to stay slack. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, reacting to the crackle of Hisoka’s annoyance. _Don’t push too far. You’ve no way to catch yourself._

“I’ve got a few questions first.” Hisoka prompted.

“And if I don’t want to answer them?” Killua shot back.

An apologetic smile. “If you want to go to the exam site, I’m sure you could find it in you to walk with me, and it’s a bit of a journey to do silent.” An unapologetic grin.

“I guess I don’t have much choice.”

“I’m afraid not,” Hisoka said.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Killua cocked his head and planted himself. “One condition. When we get there, you take this--” he waved his left hand. “Off.”

“If you insist.”

Killua sighed and started towards the site. “Well, come on then.” He put as much space between him and Hisoka as he could. With Hisoka’s bungee gum attached to him, there wasn’t much he could do. “Can I just ask, though, when you attached your aura?” He called back.

“The card in the cafe,” Hisoka replied. “Serves you right for staring.”

 _Ah, shit._ Hisoka’s foresight was better than his, and Killua was from the future.

Killua increased his pace to an even jog, then to what a normal person would consider a sprint. Hisoka would keep up just fine.

Though Killua was content to run in silence, Hisoka had no such intentions.

“The boy back there, Gon, are you his friend?” Hisoka asked.

Reluctantly, Killua replied, “I just met him.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” Hisoka loped along a good fifteen feet behind-- Killua would’ve preferred a greater distance, but he’d take what he could get.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“The way you watched him,” Hisoka murmured. “I would’ve thought-- but if you’ve not met him, I suppose that’s impossible.”  

“I didn’t try to save him,” Killua pointed out.  “His _friends_ did.”

Hisoka shrugged. “Yet his friends didn’t emanate quite the same _bloodlust_ towards me that you did. They like him enough, but I sensed it from the beginning. There’s something odd about you, strangely intense for a child your age and ability. Perhaps that’s what it was.” Killua could feel Hisoka’s eyes crawling over his skin. “A certain intensity to the way that you watched him. Pale, distant, you’re a bit of a guardian angel for the boy, aren’t you?”

Killua’d sped up without noticing. “That’s a weird way to put it. I was just curious about what was going on.” The lie tasted oily, spilling flat and fake from his lips.

“Indeed. That doesn’t quite explain everything, but I’m sure it’ll come out eventually. I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Hisoka purred. “You and Gon both.” Now he seemed to be talking to himself, fading to a murmur. Killua could see the second exam site ahead. “You and Gon both, lovely unripe fruit. Ah, but you’ve something of tomorrow about you, just a scent of later sweetness carried by the wind.”

_What the fuck._

Killua was spared a response as the arrived in front of the warehouse that was to be the Phase Two site. Before they parted, Killua took a page from Gon’s book. His hand snapped out, wrapping tight around Hisoka’s wrist. “Your aura.”

Hisoka gave Killua an indulgent smile. “If you insist.” He gestured with his free hand. Killua felt no different, and without gyo it’d be impossible to tell if Hisoka’d actually done it, but somehow he was confident that the man would hold to his word.

Killua filed to the edge of the crowd just as a gong sounded.

“Phase One of the hunter exam is officially over!” Menchi’s voice rung out, imperious. Killua shrugged, attention elsewhere.

It sat in the back of his mind, dull, heavy, unshifting and dangerous as a half-dormant volcano. It’d sat in his hand half an hour ago, sharper then. There was only one person he could trust to awaken his nen-- and his experience with Hisoka had only reinforced just how much he’d need it-- no matter how little Killua wanted to go to him. There was only one person, who for all his downfalls, horrific feats, and toxic nature, bore Killua no ill will at all. Only one person who ‘loved’ him.  

Killua’s eyes skittered to the tallest man of the group, gray skin and thick shoulders marking him distinctively odd.

 _Gittakur,_ Killua thought. _Illumi._

_God help me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys haven't caught on yet (although I assume you have) the chapter titles are all types of songs! So this one's not random, I promise, a canon being a song like row-row-row your boat, where the melody is echoed successively by other instruments or voices. In case you're not familiar with last chapter's title, an overture is the music played at the beginning of a musical or an opera, in which themes and motifs from throughout the work are show cased. 
> 
> I'm starting uni this week, so fingers crossed that I'll be able to keep updating regularly! I greatly, greatly encourage you to pop down and leave a quick comment, whether that's just a verbal kudos or a rambling paragraph that makes very little sense but includes many exclamation points (as I tend to favor when I make them myself). I welcome anything! Thanks for reading, guys, and I'll keep you updated. 
> 
> Also! Kurapika plays a bigger role next chapter, and guess who's beyond excited for that! (I'd like to apologize to Leorio in advance, bc poor guy, Killua's just not kind to him despite loving him just as much as the rest) (snark towards leorio is my olympic sport tho)


	4. Fantasia

_The west was getting out of gold,_   
_The breath of air had died of cold,_   
_When shoeing home across the white,_   
_I thought I saw a bird alight._   
  
_In summer when I passed the place_   
_I had to stop and lift my face;_   
_A bird with an angelic gift_   
_Was singing in it sweet and swift._   
  
_No bird was singing in it now._   
_A single leaf was on a bough,_   
_And that was all there was to see_   
_In going twice around the tree._

 

“My order is roast pig!” Buhara declared. “It may sound simple, but you may find pig to be a tall order in this forest.”

“That’s right,” Menchi added. “The only pork you’ll find around here is known as the Great Stamp.”

“The most dangerous pigs in the world.” Buhara nodded, a dreamy look glazing his eyes. “And the most delicious. Good luck!”

“The Great Stamp, huh? How’re we gonna find a couple of pigs in this whole forest?” Leorio gawked.

For a moment, Killua wondered if he’d forgotten about an earthquake. The earth trembled beneath a hundred pounding hooves. Applicants leaped to the sides, but some were too slow; the Great Stamp barreled through the clearing, their huge snouts tossing examinees aside like grains of rice. Leorio barely managed to tear out of the way in time.

A blinking momnt later, the examinees overcame the initial shock of the stampede and sprinted after their prey, scrambling towards the forest with weapons brandished. Eventually, Killua followed after. He strolled into a small glade where one of the pigs lay, contentedly gnawing on the bones of some smaller beast.

Killua darted forwards. The pig didn’t even have time to realize it’d been hit before it was keeling over, knees buckling beneath its enormous weight. He’d just begun to turn the beast onto its back to carry it when a voice shot through the trees.

“That was quick,” Kurapika observed, picking his way past the thorns and branches until he was only ten or so feet away. _Plenty of room to keep me comfortable. How considerate._

Killua only shrugged and continued what he’d been doing, trying to figure out a way to carry his pig back. It was encumberingly large, if not particularly heavy, and Killua was even smaller than he was used to being.

“Would you care to share how you did that?” Kurapika asked, carefully leaning against a tree in a contrivance to seem casual.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

No flicker of emotion broke Kurapika’s calm veneer. “I’d be willing to do an exchange of information, if you wished. It makes more sense to trade information rather than experiment individually until we come to the same conclusion.”

Turning his back to Kurapika, Killua reached for a gnarled tree root in the ground. He dug his heels in and pulled, ripping up a length of root-- _too short._ “I don’t think you’ve got anything for me.”

Kurapika would be easier to drive off than Gon. Killua knew that he was polite, rational, calm as a frozen lake. Killua also happened to know that all of that was masquerade; that under it, Kurapika was writhing fire, a forge made to brand vengeance onto a trembling soul.

“I believe I could offer you something,” Kurapika objected. “Not, perhaps, immediately pertaining to the exam, but pertaining to the other examinees. I have information on them--”

“Not interested,” Killua cut him off, angling his eyes resolutely away.

“You don’t want to know about your competition?” Kurapika asked. “That seems like-- and forgive me for saying so-- a foolish choice.”

“Mine to make.”

Kurapika’s brow furrowed, and he pushed off the tree. “I ask because, well, Gon’s been talking about you.”

Killua stiffened. When he failed to reply, Kurapika continued.

“He says that you’re incredible, that you’re knowledgeable-- if you listened to him talk, you’d think that you walk on air.”

“And?” Killua cut. He yanked another root up, this one long enough for his purposes. He slid behind the pig, looping the rope around and knotting strategically to create a harness. The pig was a wall, the only wall he could put between himself and his friend. _We’re not friends here. He has no idea who I am, what I could do. What I will do._

“Would it be wrong for me to admit that I’m curious?” Kurapika asked. “Gon’s painted a rather stunning image.”

“You want to vet me,” Killua stated pointedly. “Make sure that Gon’s not getting himself in too deep, especially with someone with the potential to be strong.”

“Gon’s judgment can be...questionable.”

Killua finished tying up the pig and started to the front, grasping the tail end of the root he’d left as a tow-rope.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Killua said. “Not as far as I’m concerned. I’ve asked him to leave me alone about a hundred times, and he doesn’t seem to get the message. I can’t control if he wants to hang out around me, but I have no part in it.”

Kurapika crossed his arms, frowning. “I suppose that what I’m really asking is this: are you a danger to Gon?”

A pregnant pause. _I hope not._ “I’m not a danger to anyone who isn’t a danger to me first. If people stay out of my way, we won’t have any problems. But if they insist on tangling in my business--” Killua looked up, eyes hardening as they met Kurapika’s. “I’ll kill them.”

Kurapika’s even exterior slipped, revealing a hint of the spikes he wore underneath. His knees bent, his muscles stiffened, his face dropped to a pursed frown. Yet, for all of it, Killua couldn’t help but hurt at the softness there, ache at the inevitable eventuality of Kurapika’s pain.

Gon could be stopped; if the right cards hit the table at the right times, Gon _could_ be halted in his tracks, encouraged to make healthier and kinder decisions this time around. He had the potential to live a normal life, and enjoy all the light and love that buoyed his soul. Kurapika didn’t have that option. Even if all the stars aligned and Kurapika never went after the Phantom Troupe, what then? His scales of justice always would always swing lopsided.  

Killua’s eyes fell to the ground.

The exchange was obviously over. Now would be the natural time for Killua to turn round, drag the pig back to the test site, and get started on cooking it. But something lingered in the air, something dancing on words left unspoken, and Killua stayed.  

“My concerns about Gon were only part of why I came to talk to you,” Kurapika said stiffly. “I was going to invite you to join the alliance that Gon, Leorio, and I have formed. It seemed prudent to ask.”

How many chances would Killua get to go back to his old life, and how many times would he have the strength to say no?

“And after hearing how dangerous I am, your offer still stands?”

“We’re all fully capable of defending ourselves. And besides,” Kurapika said, pushing off the tree and edging closer to Killua. “However dangerous you may be, I don’t feel threatened by you. In fact, quite the opposite. There’s something about you that tells me that our paths...” he paused, appraising his words before he spoke, “I feel that our paths are meant to cross.”

Killua shivered. “Maybe you _should_ feel threatened.” He took a step back, compensating for Kurapika’s step forwards.

“I can’t explain it, but I can sense that some of the examinees are strong and should be avoided. Hisoka, Gittakur, the ones that would be willing to do almost anything to pass.” Kurapika shook his head. “But that’s not a feeling I get from you.”

The grass didn’t even flutter as Killua swept forwards. Half a second and he was there, staring up at Kurapika’s drawn face with a hand at his throat. Sharp fingers rested lightly on the column of Kurapika’s neck, ready-- _for what? Am I going to kill him?_ Killua’s heart beat fast. Like a trapped animal, he’d panicked, lashing out. Now he had no idea where to go.

Kurapika swallowed, the first notes of doubt clouding his eyes.

 _This could work, actually. Scare him off._ _Whatever it takes._

“Let me be clear,” Killua said, slipping into the persona he’d worn a thousand times. “My name is Killua Zoldyck. I am an assassin. I have killed so many people that I neither can nor would count, and I am more than capable of making those deaths messy. This is a warning; whatever sense you may have gotten, you were wrong. If you thought that I was friendly, you were wrong. If you thought that I am not a danger to you and the rest, _you were wrong_.”

Killua lowered his hand, cracking his fingers back into their normal positions. “I’m going to go now.” He turned and grabbed the rope. “Don’t follow me. I’m not here to make friends.”  

The air shivered into ice, Kurapika’s eyes freezing Killua’s back.

“Then what are you here for?” Kurapika called. Killua’s step faltered, head snapping back. “Because from what I’ve seen, you could care less about passing the Hunter Exam.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Killua snapped. “What part of mind your own business did you not get?”

Kurapika took his weapons, the two sheathed swords that he kept close as his own heart, and laid them on the ground. “Your eyes are kind, Killua. I respect your privacy, but there was no malice in your heart when you threatened me. I have no doubt that you have the ability to kill, but I also have no doubt that you are reluctant to. You are no monster.”

 _How dare he._ How dare he come up to Killua and try to know him, pretend that he had any claim on Killua’s friendship in this world? How dare Kurapika come prodding into Killua’s business without the walls that Killua had watched, helpless, as he erected? How could he just _stand_ here, so open and kind when he would one day harden to granite, walled up so well that he would suffocate himself?

Killua was angry. More than that, he was hurt, and wounded animals were the most vicious.

“I’m _so_ glad you think that,” Killua bit, voice dripping venom. "You’d make a great judge of monsters.” _Yes,_ Killua thought. _This is where to dig. Don’t chisel, smash until there is nothing but blood and dust. Make him hate you. “_ You may not know me,” Killua said. “but I know you, and there is _so much_ about you that is monstrous.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I, _Kurapika?_ ” He spat the name like a curse. “I know you better than you think, and let me tell you, we are both our own kind of monsters. We are everything that we despise, and everything that we swore not to be.”

Starting, Kurapika took a step backwards. His eyes flicked to his weapons, surely regretting his choice to discard them.

"You don’t know me,” Kurapika repeated. He didn’t sound as sure this time.

“Don’t I? I’m not so foolish as you thought,” Killua hissed. “Not foolish enough to fail to take interest in the other examinees.” He paused. There was a line, and he was about to cross it. God, this hurt, the words clawing up his throat and tearing at his chest. “How angry would I have to get you to see those scarlet eyes?”

“Who are you?” Kurapika breathed, eyes flashing red.  

“I’m just another examinee, one that knows better than to associate with people like you.” He pushed down welling nausea, replacing it with poison. “Dirty bloodlines, so weak that they couldn’t even defend themselves, that no one remembers they were even there, that they bury themselves in anger and let it consume them.”

“I’m going to give you one chance to take that back,” Kurapika shot.

“You can do what you like. Do you really want to fight me?” Killua leveled a glare at Kurapika, voice flat and dead. Revulsion seeped through his skin-- he wished he could scrub his words out of his skin, cleanse himself of the horror he’d seen flash in Kurapika’s eyes.

Trembling with rage, Kurapika picked up his weapons. But instead of wielding them, he sheathed them on his back turned, mechanical, and walked away. He knew better than to fight against someone like Killua.

The second Kurapika was out of sight, Killua’s breath came out in a heavy rush. What had he been thinking, confronting Kurapika like that? So much for flying under the radar. His own anger ebbed, replaced by the disgust of the necessary. It was a familiar feeling, the kind he used to get after missions. How appropriate; Killua felt as if he had committed an act of murder.

_What a fucking success._

Well, Kurpika would almost surely leave him alone, now.

Killua grunted as he pulled at the pig. Strong as he was, the thing was huge and it kept getting caught on the sticks and shrubs that made up the forest floor. After much shuffling, he finally managed to maneuver it to the exam hall.

Killua shrugged his backpack onto the ground and reached into the box of tools he’d been provided with for the challenge. He’d had to feed himself enough times to be familiar with what it took to gut an animal, something that some of the more squeamish examinees weren’t looking too happy about doing themselves.

As he examined the knife he’d selected, Killua’s eyes flicked to Gon. The boy was elbows deep in the bowels of his pig and practically bouncing as he explained what he was doing to a skeptical Leorio.

 _Gross._ Nose wrinkled, Killua’s eyes carried forwards to his examiners.

Buhara, large, loud, and (mostly) good natured, patted his stomach and grinned, gazing out over the examinees with benign hunger. Killua’d always wondered if he was naturally the size of a small house or if his nen ability had something to do with it. Buhara had always been a bit distant, even though he was evidently kinder than his...compatriot. And there was the rub. Menchi was everything that Buhara was not-- _except for the loud,_ Killua thought as Menchi hollered at a group of trailing examinees.

She flung herself back into her couch, throwing one leg over the other and somehow, from all of five feet tall, managed to look _down_ on the applicants. Killua rolled his eyes and broke his gaze away. She was annoyingly memorable-- in fact, Killua could recall practically everything she’d said to him that day with _alarming_ detail.

Not that his failure at the cooking challenges haunted him or anything.

He’d show this pig just how much he was over it.

Killua brandished a long, sharp knife above his head. The blade caught a gleam of sun, and he plunged it home into his kill-- plunged being, made a nick around the neck so that the blood would drain. He hung the pig by the roasting rack and set to work, slicing and slipping and yanking til it was ready for the fire.

Killua fell into the easy rhythm of spit-rotation. Menchi wagged a finger in his mind, launching into her lecture about how _essential_ it was for good roast pig to be done evenly. Killua valued many of his memories. There were some that he desperately wished he could forget.

Safe and secure as he could hope to be, Killua couldn’t help his mind from wandering. He ran over Menchi’s words at first, but he increasingly slipped towards other memories, important and not, lazing in them like a cat in the sun. There were drawling memories, slow and sweet as honey-- days spent in quiet laughter, evenings of quiet smiles-- and neon memories, quick and sharp and bright.

He caught the eye of the pig as he turned its spit and frowned. A memory. Gon, laughing at Killua as Killua held an eel, giggling at how Killua had been disgusted by the eyes of his very first catch. Killua dismissed the memory; too much Gon. Killua moved onto the next one, passed by it as he was reminded that Gon was its center. Dropped another halfway through, his throat thick with his impasse. The good memories, the ones he relished, they all positively _reeked_ of Gon.

Without Gon, who would he be? What would he do? Could he ever find that same laughter, that same light? Or would he be stuck in nothing but second-bests and sighs?

Killua turned the spit with more force.

_Burnt on the outside, raw on the inside, huh? Not this time._

Intent on his own pig, Killua almost didn’t notice Gon running off to talk to Kurapika. He wasn’t even _turning_ _his spit_ \-- god, he was going to burn it to a crisp. Killua looked around.

No one would notice.

Covertly, he slipped to Gon’s firepit and rotated the spit so that the pig’s other side would get some heat as well. _Speaking of_ \-- Killua crouched by the edge of the pit. Gentle heat slipped into the sky, but nothing like the temperatures it’d take to cook the pig in a reasonable amount of time. Killua surreptitiously piled coals from his own fire into Gon’s pit, praying that it wouldn’t ruin either pig.

Killua paused.

Gon was still gone, and well distracted by the look of him. If Killua _wanted_ to ruin Gon’s cooking, no one would stop him. This could be his chance to take Gon out of the race in a quiet, safe way.

One of the examinees crowed victory, and Killua’s head turned just in time to see the leg of a Great Stamp disappear down Buhara’s gullet. It’d only been an hour-- _that thing was practically raw--_ But Buhara held up a passing ‘o’ sign. _What the hell._

If that were the case, it’d be exceedingly difficult to ruin Gon’s pig. Killua wasn’t even sure he _could_ come up with something that Buhara wouldn’t like. Pursing his lips, Killua returned to tend his own fire. Even if he wasn’t making Gon fail this time round, he shouldn’t be _helping_ him.

He’d gotten so used to being Gon’s support that to let him fall seemed a sin.

A shiver passed through Killua, a sure sign of eyes on his back. His head whipped around to meet them. Yellow, aloof, amused-- Hisoka.

“A good guardian angel never rests,” Hisoka mused.

Killua set his jaw and turned his back.

After hours of roasting, the pig finally smelled and tasted (according to Killua’s preliminary nibbles) good enough to eat. Carnivorous meat rarely tasted as good as herbivorous, in Killua’s experience, but the Great Stamp proved an exception. Warm, juicy, and hearty, Killua was confident that this pig was the pinnacle of fine cuisine.

Killua strutted towards the proctors. He slipped into a short line, seeing as most people had already burnt theirs, Leorio and Gon included. _And for all my hard work, too._

Killua deposited the pig on the plate in front of him. On top, he arranged a few sprigs of rosemary that he’d plucked in the woods.

“Voila,” he said, presenting with all the pride of his new found chef-hood. “Roast pig seasoned with local herbs, cooked to a sizzling finish.”

Buhara’s eyes practically sparkled. Even Menchi’s eyebrows raised, and she picked up her fork and knife for the first time in about thirty applicants. _That’s right, you picky monster. Eat it and weep._

Cutting with all the air of an culinary empress, Menchi popped a piece of pork into her mouth. She chewed slowly, purposefully, considering all the textures and flavors that Killua was sure his creation contained. She tilted her head to the side and put down her fork.

“I think it’s _wonderful,_ ” Buhara said, grabbing the pig by a haunch and dropping it serenely down his throat. “You pass!”

“Not bad, kid,” Menchi admitted. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “But I wouldn’t say it was particularly good, either.”

Killua’s eye twitched.

“The key,” Menchi said, holding up a condescending finger. “Is to make sure the spit is turned continually and evenly. And you have to--”

“Are you _kidding me--_ ”

“Don’t cut me off, kid,” Menchi started, face flushing in immediate anger. “As I was saying, you’ve got to spread the heat evenly so that no area is more cooked than the others--”

“I did _exactly_ what you said-- I can’t fucking _believe--”_

Menchi leapt to her feet, knives already in hand. “You wanna fucking go? You’re so lucky that I’m not the examiner for this phase, cause I would’ve flunked your punk ass!”

“I did everything right!” Killua groaned. “ _Everything_.”

“Obviously not, or it would’ve tasted better!”

Buhara placed a consoling hand on Menchi’s shoulder. “You’ll get a chance to fail him in your part. I’ve already said he passed.”

“I _know_ , but we don’t have to put up with this insolent bullshit from a kid. You ever been in a kitchen, huh?” Buhara physically held Menchi back as she ranted at Killua. “You don’t even know how to hold a knife, let alone use one!”

Fighting down a rising tide of irritation, Killua let Buhara deal with Menchi.

“Hey, I thought your pig looked really good!” Gon called.

“Thanks,” Killua said, meandering back over to his own fire pit.

Strangely, Gon didn’t approach Killua. After his exclamation, Killua’d expected Gon to come bouncing up and start a conversation. Keeping his face low enough to hide his eyes, Killua’s gaze snapped to Gon.

Kurapika had Gon’s arm, and the older boy muttered something in a low tone. Too low for Killua to catch, but he could make out the idea; ‘that boy is trouble, don’t approach’. Gon’s face dropped and he frowned, but made no effort to break Kurapika’s hold or come over towards Killua. Casting one final, regretful look over at Killua, Gon trotted back to his own fire where Leorio waited. A few minutes later and all seemed to be forgotten, the group talking and joking like they always had.

They were doing just fine without him.

_I was nonessential. Just ballast to balance the ship._

“Alright!” Menchi called, finally back to her normal chipper self. “That’s the first half of the challenge done! According to my fellow examiner, Buhara--”

“Seventy roast pigs, seventy passed applicants!” Buhara patted his belly. “I’m stuffed.”

“And you’re just going to pass all of them...” Menchi muttered. “What a gourmet hunter you are.” She shrugged and picked up a mallet. “Well, it’s your decision.” Resolute, she rang the gong that signaled the official end of Buhara’s jurisdiction.

Things were about to get a _lot_ messier.

“I’ll be your examiner for the second half of Phase Two,” Menchi announced. “But be warned, I won’t be as easy to satisfy. I’ll hold you guys to a high standard, so I hope you’re ready to deliver.” She placed her hands on her hips and grinned. “My order is sushi!”

“Sue- _what_?” A man shouted.

“Have you heard of that? I haven’t,” a woman said. “Does anyone know how to make it?”

Menchi held up a hand, silencing the mutters of the crowd. “I don’t blame you for being unfamiliar with it. Sushi is an ethnic cuisine of a small island nation, but I’ll give you a hint-- look inside here.” She gestured to the building where the cooking stations waited. “Best of luck!”

The second that enough applicants started moving to give him cover, Killua slipped away. There would be no pleasing Menchi. No matter what he made, she was absolutely insatiable. Irritating, too, and there was no way he was putting up with more of that nonsense today.

Instead, Killua wandered out into the forest and put himself in a good position to view the river. He recalled that sushi was a fish dish, and the person he needed to talk to would be forced to come out here eventually. After all, no one else knew that this test wasn’t worth doing.

Killua’s zetsu had been imperfect with Hisoka; this time, he couldn’t afford to slip up.

His brother would be watching.

Swallowing, Killua camouflage himself in the greenery, taking advantage of the canopy’s dappled shadows.

He didn’t have long to wait.  

Chattering his way down the hill, Killua’s first impression was that Gittakur walked alone. A moment later Hisoka drifted into view, trotting silently beside with a grin on his face. So, their strange partnership had started all the way back in the Hunter Exam. _I don’t know why I’m surprised._

“I still have no idea what this ‘sushi’ is meant to be,” Hisoka complained. “I’m usually an excellent cook, too.”

Gittakur cocked his head to the side and rattled his jaw.

“Why do you have to be like that?” Hisoka sighed. “I _know,_ but I’d much rather fight her than do any of this.”

Clacking.

“Eloquent as always. We’re quite alone, you know.”

It seemed Killua’s zetsu was holding up this time. Killua’s body tensed, still and silent, as Hisoka disappeared into the river.

Liquid, Killua slipped forwards. Gittakur waited at the banks, eyes scanning the water for any sign of movement. All it would take was the flicker of a fish and his needle would shoot out, pierce it right through the eye. Killua had seen Illumi work before, and his speed, his accuracy, his power-- they were unnerving. Killua didn’t stand a chance of overtaking Illumi by force alone; all he could do was catch him off guard. If the balance tilted in Killua’s favor, then he had a chance.

Here it was; the moment of tension before a strike, all attention forwards, all guard temporarily lowered. Gittakur’s hand flashed out, and Killua did the same, flying from his hiding place to land on his brother’s back. Quicker than possible for any normal person, Killua’s arm barred Gittakur’s throat and he held on for all he was worth as Gittakur snapped into action.

A gray arm wrapped around Killua’s wrist and _wrenched_ , dislodging Killua and sending him barreling into the river.

Angry clacking met Killua as he rose, shivering and dripping, to find Hisoka staring him in the eye

_Well, that could’ve gone better._

Without nen, without years of training, he was so much weaker than he used to be, and so much _smaller._ The Illumi of Killua’s time couldn’t have done something like that, not least so easily that it was almost offensive.

“What a strange, suicidal creature you are,” Hisoka murmured.

“This is none of your business,” Killua spat, doing his best to retain his dignity as he clambered to the bank, looking all for the world like a bedraggled kitten. “This is between Zoldycks.”

Hisoka exchanged a surprised look with Gittakur. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Hisoka waded downstream. “Then that’s my cue to leave. Give me a shout when you get--whatever this is, sorted out.” He winked. “I’ll be nearby.”

Shoulders squared, chin tilted up, water trailing down his temple, Killua met his brother’s eye.

“I want to talk to Illumi, not whoever this is.”

Pinned as Gittakur’s face was, there was no way for Killua to read his brother’s reaction. Nonetheless, Gittakur reached to his neck and yanked out the first pin. He went for another, on the other side, and slowly worked his way up his face. Killua’s nose wrinkled at the sight of Illumi’s transformation, the way his skin bulged and writhed back into place. It looked as if Illumi’s flesh was clay, pressed and prodded by an indecisive sculptor.

Finally, Illumi settled into his proper form. A curtain of black hair spilled over his shoulders, matched only by the impossible dark of his eyes. Tall and lean and murky, this was the brother that Killua knew.

“You’ve been misbehaving, little brother,” Illumi said.

Killua shrugged. “I’m here to take the Hunter Exam, same as you.”

“You’re too young. I heard you ran away from home for this.” Illumi bent to pick up the fish he’d caught, balancing it lightly on two hands. “You should go back.”

“Two things; one, I don’t want to, and two, having a hunter license would be useful for my next job.”

Illumi’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t aware you had another job lined up.”

“I do.”

“Father hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

“He wouldn’t.” Killua moved into the sunlight in an attempt to dry himself off. “He’s decided that I need to start taking more high profile jobs, since I’m the family heir and all.” Technically, he _had_ been told as much in his timeline; in this one, the Killua he’d been hadn’t known anything about that. Killua hoped that his knowledge would be enough evidence to satisfy.

“He also--” Killua said, carefully watching Illumi’s face. “Said that I would need something called nen for my next mission.”

Illumi’s arched eyebrows raised. “Really.”

“He told me the Hunter Exam would kill two birds with one stone. Told me that you’d be here, too, and that I should talk to you about it.”

“I’m glad that you’re finally acknowledging our brotherly relationship, Killua. Younger siblings should learn from their older siblings.” Illumi frowned. “But they shouldn’t lie to them.”

Killua took a step back, sensing the darkness gathering around Illumi to be aura. Had it been the needle that had compelled him to return last time, or just the pressure of Illumi’s nen? He couldn’t take that chance.

Face blank as always, Illumi beckoned Killua forwards. “Come here, little brother.”

“Why?”

“Would you rather I come to you?” Illumi asked. He stepped forwards and Killua jumped back, landing to create significant distance between them.

Illumi’s face slackened slightly, a sign of great surprise. Killua hated that he could read him so well.

“You’ve been _exceptionally_ rebellious,” Illumi murmured. He touched his forehead lightly. “When did you take it out, for curiosity’s sake? My needle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Killua said. “Will you help me get nen, or not?”

“You don’t think I’d believe that father told you to ask about nen without briefing me first,” Illumi stated.

Killua paled. Illumi had always been able to tell when he lied, one of the few that could. “I need it.” Better to go with an approximation of the truth.

“The family will tell you if and when you do. For now, you should go back and wait for me to return.”

_Hold your ground, Killua. You have no reason to run._

“I’m not going back, not yet,” Killua said.

“You’re willing to stand by that?” Illumi returned. “Yet you’ve never once spoken about taking the Hunter Exam.”

“I have my own goals, and it’s none of your business what they are. If you don’t awaken my nen, I’ll be forced to go to someone else, and you know as well as I do how dangerous that is.”

“You really want it that badly,” Illumi observed. He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, his pale skin slicing like paper through ink. “Then do it. You’ll die.”

Killua snorted. “You wouldn’t let me try.”

“You’re right, of course,” Illumi said. “I’d stop you if I thought you were serious, and not just using that as a bargaining chip to get me to do what you want.”

Frustrated, Killua pinched the bridge of his nose. “You put a needle in my _fucking head,_ Illumi. You owe me this.”

“I was protecting you. You don’t know how many times that needle probably saved your life.”

“It doesn’t matter if it--” Killua set his jaw. _Arguing with Illumi is pointless._ “I’m going to get nen, whether that’s now or in a few weeks once I meditate it out. I figured that you’d want to have a say in it, teach me some of the basics.” _As if._ But Illumi always _had_ wanted to play the caring older brother, and Killua would pander as much as he needed.

“Really,” Illumi mused. “Well, if that’s the problem, then I’ll just have to knock you out and use my needles to make you forget about nen entirely.”

“Illumi--”

“But there’s no guarantee I won’t damage something else if I do it here on the fly.” Illumi pursed his lips, regarding Killua with cool consideration. “I suppose I’ll do it when we go home. I don’t much care whether you pass the hunter exam or not, as long as you’ll come home after and do as the family says.”

Killua flexed his hands, unclenching the fists he hadn’t realized he’d made.

“So that’s a no, then,” Killua said. “Figures.”

“I don’t appreciate the way that you’re talking to me today, Killua. Did something happen?” Illumi asked.

“Forget it.” Killua turned to walk away.

“Is it that Gon boy?” Illumi called.

Killua swallowed and tossed a cool look over his shoulder. “Who?”

“The boy that I saw you talking to in the first phase. About your age, freckles, carries a fishing pole,” Illumi explained.

“Oh, yeah. Him. What about him?”

_Nonchalant nonchalant nonchalant._

“I was worried that you might be acting strangely because you’d made a friend.” Illumi’s mouth turned down infinitesimally, indicating displeasure.

Killua forced a laugh into his voice as he turned to face his brother once more. “What gave you that impression? I’ve been doing my best to get him to leave me alone.”

“Good,” Illumi said. “I’m glad, little brother. Because, you know, killers like you don’t _need_ friends.”

“I know,” Killua echoed emptily. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, Killua.” Illumi tipped his head to the side. “That’s why I try so hard to protect you. You’re too soft, too impulsive, too emotional.”

Illumi’s attention felt like oil, leaving Killua covered in a slick, unwashable film. It left him feeling unclean.

The sound of whirring blades filtered through the leaves. The chairman’s airship. Killua started off. “I’ve got to get back.”

“Here,” Illumi said. “I like to look out for you.” He tossed the fish he’d caught, pale and bloated, to Killua’s feet.

Hiding his grimace, Killua picked it up. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Without another word, Killua left the river and started back towards the test site.

Illumi wouldn’t interfere with Killua’s taking the Hunter Exam this time, but he wouldn’t help, either. It wasn’t that Killua needed nen to pass the exam, but to look after Gon he would take everything he could get.

 _Is this real? Is this a nen ability?_ Killua shook his head. He couldn’t know, and he probably wouldn’t for a long time. Things _felt_ so visceral, so real, that he had trouble thinking of it as anything but.

Killua arrived to the Second Phase site and wandered over to his work area, bloated fish in hand. So as not to stick out, Killua mechanically prepared his fish. His mind wandered, even as his hands worked.

He didn’t doubt that he could awaken his nen given enough time. It just took meditation and concentration-- though he didn’t really have time for either of those things right now. With the exam’s hectic schedule, he couldn’t count on learning nen for at least another few weeks, and even then...

_“Why didn’t you teach us the real nen the first time?” Gon asked, brow furrowed._

_Wing glanced uncomfortably out the window. “Nen is a dangerous weapon. You can take everyday items or ideas and make them inconceivably dangerous. For instance,” He said, pulling a page from a nearby book. “Watch.” He concentrated on the paper and suddenly shot it out, slicing a soda can in two. “You can’t teach it to just anyone.” Killua didn’t miss the way that Wing’s eyes lingered on him. There was so much doubt in him, as a teacher, as a person, as a bush amongst oak saplings; taller, for now, but so much less than Killua and Gon could grow to be._

_“It’s too late to take it back,” Killua said. “Either you can teach us or we’ll find someone else, but we will learn.”_

Wing probably wouldn’t teach Killua if he showed up alone. Sometimes Gon’s light did enough to burn the shadows out of Killua, but Killua supposed that was a thing of the past.

Closing his eyes, Killua tried to focus on the aura he knew surrounded him. His chest moved gently up and down, the pulse in his fingers tapped a calm beat, his clothes rustled against his skin. Nothing. He waited a bit longer, til he could feel the heat coming off his skin. Still nothing.

 _Dammit._ Killua’s grip on his knife grew tight.

“That could’ve gone better,” Hisoka said.

Killua started. “Where do you keep _coming_ from?”

“I’ve been next to you this entire time,” Hisoka said, amusement dancing on the turn of his lips. “It’s not my fault if you don’t notice these things.”

“What do you want, Hisoka?”

Hisoka picked up a knife, balanced it on his finger. “You know that I find you interesting,” he half-purred, and Killua instinctively moved his knife in front of him. “I’m quite invested in looking out for you and all that now.”

“Really.” Killua’s voice came out flat.

“And so,” Hisoka said, flipping the knife into the air. “I have an offer for you. You may not like it, but I think you’ll find that it’s the best you’re going to get.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I think you are.”

“Yeah?” Killua asked. “What is it that I’m so fascinated by?”

Hisoka’s eyes narrowed. He stepped towards Killua conspiratorially, lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “Nen.”

Killua’s eyebrows drew together. “What about it?”

“I have, you want, we could work something out.”

“You’d be willing to--” Killua’s mind raced through the possibilities, the probabilities. “You’d kill me if you tried.”

“Only if I had ill will towards you, which I’m glad to inform you that I do not. I think you’re positively fascinating, and much more worthy of an opponent if you’ve got nen to fight with as well. I’m tired of having to _restrain_ myself around these people.”

Killua frowned. There could be merit in Hisoka’s offer, but nothing came free with this man. Killua crossed his arms. “And why won’t I like it?”

‘Because I have a condition,” Hisoka said. Killua followed his line of sight and started before he could help himself.

“Leave him alone,” Killua shot.

“I intend to,” Hisoka assured him. “But you, on the other hand-- well, I see the potential for a beautiful friendship. Think of the heights you’ll drive each other to.”

“What do you want with him?”

Hisoka’s eyes wandered back to Killua. “I’ll awaken your nen on one condition: you must convince Gon to do the same.”

“To learn nen?”

“Indeed.”

Killua froze, his jaw working. That was...could he? Was it worth it? The sooner he figured out what was going on with this whole time travel thing the better, but it would undermine _everything._ It would lead them down the same path.

Once more, Killua cursed his future for being _so set_ on happening. Could he destroy the future in the name of fixing the past?

“I’ll...think about it,” Killua choked out.

Hisoka shook his head. “ _So_ inexplicably conflicted. I look forward to hearing your response.” Hisoka picked up his plate of sushi and started towards Menchi. “My offer expires at the end of-- shall we say the third phase?”

“Yeah,” Killua said. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes blank and mouth drawn. “Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Menchi tossed an entire plate of sushi into the trash. “Next!”  

  

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the feedback I've received over the last week! I started uni on Friday, so things are pretty crazy right now but I'll do my best to keep up with this thing. 
> 
> In this chapter, I introduce Kurapika and apologize for doing so but let's face it,,, this fic needs more angst, right? like killua's not angsty enough on his own he's gotta have that in there too!! (my apology goes straight to Killua but I don't mean a word of it)
> 
> So in case anyone's wondering, a fantasia isn't just the disney thing-- it's actually a form of song that's based quite heavily on improvisation, so it doesn't follow the structures and rules of a lot of other types of music. Make of that what you will for this chapter, since it's the first real break away from canon events! And then we've got the poems at the beginning of the chapters, because I don't think I've talked about those yet; I'm sure some of you recognized the first chapter's as Robert Frost's the Road Not Taken, which is essentially the theme of this story, but all the other poems have actually been excerpts from his other poems! He's one of my favorite poets and I'm really enjoying getting to know his work a bit better for this, but you guys should definitely read through them at some point if you get the chance. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading and the positive responses, guys!! I'm blown away by how kind you've been to me and I'll do my best to deserve it in these coming weeks. <3


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